Winchester Within: Hold on to love
by triangular peg ticks all boxes
Summary: A dream gives the Winchesters a new hunt. But will this be the last stand for one of them? Or will the others save the day? Emily is still around, so yeah, this is a sisterfic; don't say I didn't warn you. I rated it M because of the language, but it's not too bad. There's a smidge of gore as well.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Supernatural and all it's characters belongs to CW and Eric Kripke. However, this story is all mine! Emily too!**

* * *

The light illuminated the room, casting shadows that did nothing to enhance the place.

"Dude!" Sam stopped short and looked around in disbelief, while Emily sniggered as she crossed the room's span and dropped her bag next to the couch. They had decided to stop for the night in Kerrville, Texas. The pouring rain forcing them to stop earlier than they had intended.

"Hey, I didn't decorate the place. I just chose it!" Dean defended himself, bringing up the rear. However, he too did a double take when he saw the room. It was atrocious.

"Well, you made a craptastic choice! Even death would be depressed in this room!"

Everything in the room was aubergine in color, from the walls to the bedspreads. It made for an extremely gloomy look. The only good thing that could be said about the color was that it hid mould quite well.

"It's not like I had a guided tour before I took the room. The minute the guy said there was a pullout couch, I was sold!" Dean defended himself. "Besides, you Little Miss Sunshine can light up the room!" he added sarcastically in a terrible imitation of an old woman's voice. He was referencing an incident two weeks back when a woman had said Sam positively lit up a room with his smile. It had annoyed Dean to no ends because the dork had not even been trying to win over the woman. Dean was the one who had been trying to be charming.

"She wasn't that old!" Sam laughed, "You're just jealous!"

"No I'm not! She was like fifty years old!"

"Yet you tried to flirt with her!" Emily pointed out. She had been present at the event. The woman in question was probably between thirty-five and forty, and she had been drop dead gorgeous, and evidently Dean had thought so too.

"I was not flirting! I was trying to get information. You two idiots were in the background giggling about something dumb and stealing my thunder!"

Sam and Emily would have been affronted about being accused of giggling but they both knew that's what Dean wanted, so they refused to take the bait.

"Jealous!" Sam instead dismissed his brother as Emily dissolved into loud obnoxious laughter.

Dean huffed. He supervised Emily as she lay the salt lines. She rolled her eyes in irritation but didn't verbally object to his hovering. She had stopped fighting him. Well, not really, but she had stopped fighting him on supernatural related activities. After all, he and Sam were the experts in this area, so she mostly deferred to them. She wasn't docile though and the three of them still got into it, none willing to relinquish control and independence, but their fights were never earth shattering, and they made up easily and quickly.

They had showers one after the other, Dean going last and finding nearly no hot water. "Bloody hell! I'm going to wake up one night and go on a hair cutting rampage, because seriously, you two finish the hot water washing your damn hair!" he yelled from the bathroom.

"Just try to get in first next time!" Sam, the most extravagant water user called back. He and Emily enjoyed another laugh at Dean's expense.

Sam sat on his bed and grabbed his laptop. Emily lay on her stomach on Dean's bed. She had the best view to the TV from there. She'd move to her couch bed when it was time to sleep. She stopped at a channel that was promising to show the movie Equilibrium in a few minutes. Right now it was going through a series of commercials.

"Why don't you wear pajamas?" she asked curiously and suddenly. Sam as usual was wearing a tee and a pair of boxers.

Sam looked up in amused shock to find her watching him, her head supported on her hand. She was actually waiting for an answer. He'd thought it was one of those idle no-need-for-an-answer questions she was fond of. "Because I don't own any!" he shrugged.

"How come?" she asked in amazement. She had four pajamas sets, that she never mixed and matched. Had only slept in a loose tee that one time she had gone after Bobby and ended up staying in the town longer than she had planned, so she couldn't understand why a person wouldn't have nightwear.

"I never buy any!"

"Why? Is it a guy thing or is it just you and Dean?"

Sam had never really thought about it. Their dad didn't either, and as he flashed back to his freshman year before he got the apartment with Jessica, he realised his roommate hadn't either. "It could be a guy thing. I don't know. The guys I've known didn't own any as well. I don't know their reasons, but dad, Dean and I, don't buy any because it's a waste of time. Going shopping is hard enough without wasting time looking for specialised sleepwear," he answered.

Besides, they did most of their outer-clothing shopping at Salvation Army, something Emily had not been exposed to yet. However, when you've had your jeans slashed by claws and stained with blood a few dozen times, you didn't exactly want to waste money replacing them with pairs worth a hundred dollars! Especially when you didn't make a living and drove extensively around the country and had a car to fuel and motel rooms to rent.

Emily had not hunted long enough to get to their level of raggedness yet, and hopefully she never would. Her jeans, all four pairs of them, had no holes, and were not flayed or faded. All her clothes fit her frame well because she'd bought them in stores and probably tried them on before buying. He and Dean didn't really have that luxury. They went into thrift shops looking for clothes their size. If they didn't find any, they bought a size bigger. Sometimes, especially in Sam's case, they bought a size smaller. There were T-shirts he couldn't raise his arms while wearing because they would practically rise to his chest! It was rather embarrassing. The only thing Emily owned that was ragged were her boots, and that was because she had owned them for years. She apparently committed to everything, even shoes! But you could tell even in their ragged state that those boots were of great quality and had probably been expensive to begin with.

Even her demeanour, for the most part was shiny and peppy; she sometimes spoke with fast breathless enthusiasm and peppered her speech with hand gestures, and she still had that quick, boisterous, springy walk. Sometimes he was sure she was about to start skipping like a child, but she never did. He knew time and experience would inevitably dull this part of her, so he enjoyed it while it lasted, he laughed at her gaiety and wondered at her naivety. In the towns they'd stopped, he had noticed people looking at them suspiciously and watching Emily closely, trying to figure out whether she was acting scared or anything. They probably thought he and Dean had kidnapped her or something. Fortunately, the rapport between the three of them was quickly and easily evident. It amazed him sometimes how fast the three of them had bonded. It felt like they had known Emily for years. Like she had somehow always been there.

Then he remembered the fight that had threatened to tear them apart. Instead, and remarkably it had made their bond stronger. They still fought of course! After all, they were siblings and they spent a lot of time together, moreover in close quarters, and even though they had some similar traits, they had totally different personalities, so yes, fights were inevitable. However, they were resolved quickly and easily and without any bitterness or ill feelings left over. Besides, many of the fights could indisputably be classed under ridiculous! Sam smiled and returned to his computer.

* * *

In the shower Dean sang 'Riding in my car by Woody Guthrie' in a campy, hilariously exaggerated manner. He'd fallen in love with the ridiculous song when he'd heard it on Emily's iPod back in Rum River when Bobby had been hurt on a hunt. Despite his complaints about the water, Dean enjoyed the shower. With the heavy downpour that had started out of nowhere, it was a good night to stay indoors, and he was glad he did not need to hustle pool as they had enough funds to last maybe another three days.

When he'd put Madeline's envelope in his jacket, he'd forgotten about it until they were on the road. The woman had given them 1,300 dollars! In a fucking envelope, like it was nothing! He supposed it was nothing to her. She'd probably grabbed it from a biscuit tin or something! After they had all expressed their shock and counted the money four times, Dean had tried to split it equally between the three of them but Sam and Emily had insisted he give them 200 each and keep the rest because more often than not, he fueled the car and he kept their ammo topped up. The two of them rarely ganged up against him, but when they did, he didn't stand a chance of winning, but that didn't mean he didn't give his all in any of those argument.

God, he loved those two stubborn dorks with everything he had, and even though they sometimes drove him mad, he would never trade them for anything. He remembered the hunt in Oregon with a slight shudder. That hunt had made him paranoid for a long time after. He wouldn't let them out of his sight if he could help it. When he couldn't, he made sure he could at least hear them. He'd have them sing or talk loudly to him if he was in the bathroom and he cut down his shower time to a record low that had nothing to do with the fact that most times the water wasn't warm when he got in. In fact, the first thing he had bought with his money was a bright pink helmet for Emily, on which he had had the words 'Pinky and the Brain' inscribed. Who said just because he was worried, he couldn't have a sense of humor about it? Before wrapping it, he had given it to Sam to sign. Sam had laughed for nearly a minute before writing one word - Narf! "Just when I'm about to question whether the two of us are really related, you go and prove it!" Dean had approved of Sam's signature with a laugh and a slap on the back.

Emily had opened the wrapped box with such enthusiasm, that he and Sam had felt a little guilty about its contents. However, her reaction to the gift had absolved them. When she'd seen the helmet, her eyes had widened in shock, then twinkled with suppressed laughter and her lips had twitched. "You guys suck!" she had tried to glare at them, but her eyes were still dancing with mirth and the laughter could be heard in her voice. Dean knew that the significance of the present had not been lost on her, as her thanks though said with as much sarcasm as she could muster, was really heartfelt. She had worn the thing for a couple of weeks and even now kept it in her duffle bag.

Dean felt ridiculously happy when his impossibly strong willed, independent siblings accepted his help. His need for their validation would probably never completely disappear. It was too entrenched. He had been effectively indoctrinated.

He turned off the water, toweled dry and dressed up. "Anything in this town?" he asked as he got out of the bathroom. He jumped onto the bed jostling Emily, then he obnoxiously crossed his feet at the ankles in front of her face, snatched up the remote from the bed where she had dropped it and flipped through the channels.

"Oh sweet Pythagoras, don't say it's another salt and burn!" Emily groaned, as she shifted positions, getting off her stomach to sit shoulder to shoulder with Dean. She shoulder bumped him in retaliation for his feet in her face action.

If it was a salt and burn, it would be the eighth since leaving Oregon. In one town there had even been two. The boys had explained that spirits were the commonest supernatural being out there, because people died every day, and many people died with unfinished business. Yeah, whatever, as far as she was concerned salt 'n burns were boring. The three of them met no resistance. Both boys were immensely glad about this. They told her it was probably because the ghosts they'd found so far had just been created, their former host bodies only recently dead, and so the spirits were not yet powerful enough to harm anyone, let alone resist experienced hunters. They told her stories of salt 'n burns that had been way more complicated. She was yet to experience one of those. The ones she'd been on had been so routine she could do them alone and with half a brain. They found a spirit, found out who it belonged to, dug up the poor sod, salted and burnt his remains and covered up the grave again.

She had a flitting suspicion that her brothers had been choosing the easier cases because of the head injury she had received in Oregon, but she couldn't prove it, because she could never find a case on her own. She could thoroughly and diligently read a newspaper from the first page to the last and not come across a single case. On the other hand, Sam and Dean would perfunctorily scan the same paper and eyeball a case in seconds. Sam said it was because she was too logical. Even though she was now open to the existence of the supernatural, her brain still supplied logical explanations for the things she read. Dean called her an idiot supernatural savant, a comment that always started a round of bickering that digressed into hilarious name calling and ended in laughter.

Of course they didn't always find their cases through the papers. Once Dean had found one by eavesdropping on a woman's phone call with a friend. Sam had wanted to disapprove, but the fact that they got rid of a ghost before it got dangerous had made him forgive his brother's appalling lack of manners. The culprit had been the woman's husband who had died just two days earlier. He wasn't dangerous, he hadn't even learnt how to manifest yet, but his perceivable presence in form of cold spots had been freaking his wife out.

"Best of three, if it's another salt n burn!" Dean said idly as he settled on the channel Emily had previously settled on. Equilibrium had just started.

Emily smiled. At first, the boys wouldn't let her dig, but the novelty of her being a girl had quickly worn off, something she helped along with her complaints and tantrums about not being a fragile thing. So these days, they played rock, paper, scissors to determine who would dig and who would stand guard. Sam was an RPS ninja! He almost never lost. Dean on the other hand was guaranteed to lose; like Sam so eloquently said, "Always with the scissors, Dean!"

More often than not, it was Emily and Dean digging. However, during the rare times she won, Sam dug alone because Dean, even though he'd lost, wouldn't join Sam in the grave and let her stand guard alone. His overprotectiveness sometimes chafed at her independent spirit, and was usually the cause of their fights, but they were both learning to relax.

She remembered getting wicked blisters on her hands the first time she'd dug, but it wasn't like they'd killed her or anything. She was fitter and her arms were toned from digging graves, and hefting herself out of deep holes, so she really had nothing against salt 'n burns, but still, hunting whose only activities were digging, salting and burning got old quick. Well, she enjoyed her brothers' company! And the driving! And the fewer rules! so that counted for something.

"Nope, nothing in this town!" Sam mumbled after a while.

Dean and Emily sighed together, neither turning away from the TV where a fantastic, albeit unrealistic fight scene was taking place. Their disappointment was palpable. Sam threw the paper aside and joined his siblings.

Later they had a spirited debate complete with attempted recreation of some scenes, about whether the fighting in the movie was feasible or not and in the end all three decided it wasn't. They laughed at the ridiculousness of the gun kata but admitted it was cool to watch. They concluded that the cool factor of the movie nearly but not quite made up for it's weak, unoriginal plot. They then got onto the topic of how Sean Bean dies in all his movies.

"Not all!" Sam objected, and he went ahead and listed all the movies he could remember that Sean Bean hadn't died in.

Dean stared at him with a dumbfounded look after he had finished, then threw his hands up. "I rest my case. Even proximity to my coolness can't ungeek you!"

"Well, your brand of cool isn't cool!" Sam retorted.

"Amen!" Emily quipped. Dean glared at her. She ignored him and with her eyes twinkling mischievously, she instead asked, "Most ludicrous Sean Bean death?"

Dean would have loved to rag on her for using weird big words like ludicrous, but he just couldn't resist answering her question. "Death by cow … the Field!" he answered promptly with a snicker.

Emily chuckled in appreciation before she whispered a little guiltily, "And sheep too!"

Sam looked at them in disapproval and shook his head. "You two are really disturbed!" but he ruined the effect by smiling almost immediately. He had to admit that was an absurd way to go.

Like coroners and morticians and other people who regularly saw and dealt with death, most hunters developed a morbid sense of humour. For Dean and Sam this was true to a small extent. For Emily, this only applied to movie and TV death; in reality, she hadn't been around death long enough. Still, none of the three was yet to get desensitised to death.

* * *

Dean fell asleep first, no surprises there. He really was a civilian soldier; he could fall asleep in seconds and could sleep just about anywhere. He also woke fast, going from sleep to alert in seconds, if there was danger. Conversely, he was a bitch to wake if he didn't sense danger! Dragging him out of bed was an exercise in patience.

Sam helped Emily pull out the couch bed. She quickly made it up and settled in with a sigh, her hands laced behind her head. Not for the first time, she missed her guitar. She had wanted to bring it, but the day they had left Bobby's, the three of them had been at odds and Dean in particular had been so mad, that she feared if he saw her bring along a guitar for what he had expressly told her wasn't a road-trip, he'd smash it on the ground. Of course, she now knew her brothers a lot better, she knew he wouldn't have. Underneath that tough, hard shell, was a softie, especially when it came to Sam and her. Her iPod had also not made the journey, as she'd been unable to locate it that day. From his breathing, she could tell Sam had finally fallen asleep too. She really hoped he had a restful night tonight.

Being on the road with them, and sharing such close quarters, Emily had learnt that he didn't always sleep well. Some nights he slept fitfully and at times, she woke up at ungodly hours to find him on his laptop or just seated on his bed staring into space. She wanted to talk to him, but she had no idea what to say. Besides, she knew Dean was fully aware of Sam's restless nights but neither brother acknowledged it, so she followed their lead. Still, she did not think it was healthy, especially for a person as expressive as Sam not to talk about what plagued his dreams.

With a sigh, she turned to her side, her right hand slipping under her pillow to feel the cold comfort of her gun. Guns weren't new to her, not with a mom who had been a US Marshal, but if someone had told her a year ago that she couldn't go to sleep without a gun under her pillow, she'd have snorted in derision and called up a mental institution for the person. Sam kept his on the nightstand, as did Dean, but she knew Dean slept with his wicked looking bowie knife under his pillow. Emily didn't have a bowie knife, but even if she'd had one, she would never sleep with it under her pillow as she felt chances of a finger-losing accident were high if she did so. However, Dean was a veteran hunter, he was unlikely to hurt himself accidentally.

In her own personal knife arsenal, she now had an Extrema Ratio knife she'd bought in Lamesa, New Mexico, a butterfly knife and a punch dagger pocket knife both of which Sam had found and bought her as gifts. Both knives were antiques, beautifully crafted and considerably ornate but despite their cuteness, both were extremely sharp and dangerous. Dean, being the overzealous weapon maintenance hunter that he was, kept all the knives they owned constantly sharp with a whetstone.

It was not surprising that Sam had bought her beautiful knives. Despite being macho, the boys loved pretty weapons. Emily always teased them, saying she, the girl, had the plainest guns. Dean's favored gun was a Colt that had ivory grips and Sam's was a Taurus with mother of pearl grips. Of course they had other guns including the shotguns which they switched back and forth between each other and Emily depending on which ammo they had or what they were hunting.

Emily was now proficient with all the back up guns, but it had taken her a while to get used to the Beretta. One evening, the three of them had gone out in the woods along a beaten road they'd been transversing and shot a few bottles. Emily's personal guns were the S&W Bobby had given her, and a Ruger LCP she had taken off an incompetent thief who had waved it in her face as an intimidation tactic. The three of them had been hunting an incubus, with her as the bait. Her brothers who had been close by, did not need to help her take down the thief, but they had been so pissed at the man not only because he had threatened their baby sister, but because he had ruined their stakeout. The incubus had become aware of their presence and fled. Yeah, some monsters did have a self preservation instinct and knew when they were outmatched. This trait didn't mean they were not dangerous. In fact, their being smart made them more dangerous than the average monster. Emily hoped they or another hunter caught up to the incubus soon.

The boys had trussed the thief up and Dean had just stopped short of kicking the man in the nuts!

"Next time, pick on someone your own size!" Sam had snarled at the man. That had made Emily want to snort with laughter because the man was actually only half an inch taller than she was.

"And pack a more manly gun!" Dean had added with a sneer.

"You know what? Just get another job! You're definitely not cut out for this one!" Emily had quipped goadingly.

Despite Dean's derision, she had taken the gun as they left the scene.

"That's a girly gun!" Dean had been aghast.

The look she'd given him had had Sam in stitches for days. She had also added in indignation, "FYI, I am a giiiiirl! Besides, just because it's small doesn't mean it's a sissy gun. It's a semi-automatic, six rounds, point and shoot gun, with .380 ammunition. Trust me, it can do a whole lot of damage! And on top of that, it's easy to conceal!" Also, she was really adept at using Rugers, admittedly bigger ones, and she knew they were reliable guns. She would take this gun any day over the Beretta and she'd told Dean so. He'd sulked a little over that, as if she had insulted his personal invention or something, but he'd soon gotten over it. After all, he could not begrudge her a second gun, moreover one that she was actually comfortable with.

She used the guns interchangeably, carrying the Ruger more often during the day because it was easier to conceal especially with her clothes that were slightly more formfitting than her brothers' were. Dean had made her a belt holster that made carrying the guns easier.

Emily smiled in the darkness. Her brothers' gifts to her were as unconventional as her brothers themselves. Gosh, she loved these boys. It sometimes scared her how much. Slowly she drifted off to sleep, content and safe in her brothers' company.

* * *

**A/N: A little slow, yes, but it's an insight into their lives.**


	2. Chapter 2

The dream hit Sam suddenly as they all did. It eased seamlessly into the pleasant one he had been having.

_The sweating, young man shot off the couch, where he'd been sleeping in front of a muted TV that was playing old music videos, and raced out of the room. In his blind distress he knocked over and smashed a framed photo that had stood on the side table next to the couch. _

_Everything okay honey?" a woman's voice called from another room inside the house. The man didn't answer, instead making his way to the kitchen and straight to the fridge. He grabbed a jug of water that he proceeded to drink directly from, though much of the water poured over him and on the floor in his haste. He flung open the ice compartment and grabbed a handful of ice cubes which he threw into his mouth and chewed urgently on._

_"What is wrong with you?" a woman, old enough to be the man's mother and probably was, asked as she walked into the room._

_"My blood is boiling!" the man gasped out between crunches that should have at the very least numbed his teeth._

_The woman who had been looking mildly concerned, was now looking a little irritated. "James, you have to stop this! We've been over this already. There is nothing wrong with you, or your blood. The doctor said it's all in your head!" _

_The man was lost in his pain. "Oh god, just make it stop. Make it stop!" he run out of the room and upstairs into a bathroom._

_The woman followed him at a more leisurely pace. She even rolled her eyes and muttered a long suffering, "Here we go again!"_

_The man run into the bathroom, plugged the bathtub and opened the cold water tap. The tub was not filling fast enough for his tastes so he got into the shower, fully clothed and turned the cold water faucet. _

_"I'm going to call Dr. Vaughn!" the woman said threateningly, standing at the door with her arms akimbo. _

_The man could barely hear her over the roar of his blood and the pouring water._

_As she turned to leave the bathroom, the man let out a loud pain filled wail that would have stopped the hearts of anyone listening. Then the wail was cut off as he exploded in a gooey spew of blood, tissue and destroyed bones and fabric, that coated the blue green tiles and the glass door._

_The woman screamed until she went hoarse, but she could not draw her eyes away from the gory muck that was slithering slowly down the tiles and the glass door, the spray of the shower not reaching far enough to wash it away quickly._

Sam shot up and off his bed, his heart racing a mile a minute and a scream dying unreleased in his throat. "Dean?" he shook his brother awake.

"Mmmmmm?" Dean came awake slower than he usually did. After all, it was his brother shaking him and he hadn't heard or felt anything come in.

"We have to leave right now." Sam said urgently.

"What? Why?" Dean managed to make the two words long-suffering complaints.

"I had one of those vision dreams!"

That was enough to wake Dean fully and propel him out of bed. Sam was already shaking Emily awake.

"What?" she complained as she attempted to burrow further into her bed. Sam wasn't having any of it and he flung the covers off her. In exasperation, she straightened out and turned onto her back, without opening her eyes. She looked so comical lying there like a polka dotted lilac log, that Sam snorted a half laugh despite the panicky beating of his heart.

"We're hauling ass!" Dean yelled from where he was throwing things haphazardly into his duffel. "Where are we going, Sam?" he asked. He would get the other details of the dream in the car.

Sam closed his eyes briefly to picture the address on the letters that the man he knew as James had poured water over drinking from the jug. "2929 Traction Street, Greenville, South Carolina," he said quickly, as he moved away from Emily's side to start his own packing.

Emily opened one eye to stare blearily at her brothers so as to ascertain that they were not playing an elaborate prank. Okay, no way were they faking that earnestness! She shot out of her bed and was in the bathroom getting her things in no time. She knew better than to start asking questions now. There was time for explanations on the drive to wherever they were going. The urgency was palpable and she was thrilled. Whatever this was, it wasn't a salt and burn. Yippee!

They hadn't spread out too much, they never did and they were packed up and ready to go in under three minutes. However, Emily was still in her pajamas while the boys were already fully clothed, having thrown clothes over what they had worn to bed. She looked at them with a look between jaundice and awe.

"You know, this right here is the perfect reason to not do pjs!" Sam laughed as they hassled her out of the room.

Dean quickly but thoroughly inspected the room making sure they left nothing behind.

"You'll have to change in the car!" he smirked. For someone who was not a morning person, he was taking this unexpected awakening in stride. It was obvious he was excited at the prospect of a proper hunt. It was 01:46 a.m. when they squealed out of the motel's parking lot.

They'd paid upfront so it was not like they were skipping out on a bill or anything, but leaving in the middle of the night, and leaving the key in the room, instead of returning it to the front desk made Emily feel like they were fugitives. Which brought to mind Dean's former status as a dead felon. The boys did not know that she had done it; she had hacked the system and changed the name to Dane Winchester, and had tampered slightly but effectively with the picture so it was different enough not to be of Dean. She couldn't erase the whole report because a suddenly missing report was easier to flag, but this way, if Dean's appearance or name raised a cop's curiosity and made him look up the records, the cop would dismiss the feeling of familiarity with how similar the names were and how closely Dean and the late Dane resembled. She had done it mostly because she could, but who knew, maybe it might prove useful someday.

In the back seat of the impala, she contorted and twisted to change out of her pjs and into regular clothes, as Sam told them what he had dreamt. She didn't really know how he knew the difference between his clairvoyant dreams and his regular dreams, but she trusted his judgement. They'd only told her about one clairvoyant dream. The dream that had led them back to their first home where they had saved a woman and her children.

Emily knew what it was like to have vivid nightmares, she'd had a few after her parents' deaths, after her attack and after the hunt with Bobby, but for her the horror always ended when she woke. She wondered what it was like to wake from a nightmare with the responsibility of keeping it from happening. She really felt for Sam. It certainly couldn't be easy being him.

With the tale finished, they discussed the best way to go about the case. They bandied theories about what the big bad might be and how to approach the guy and explain to him his possible death. Emily's suggestion that she come onto the guy was shot down by both brothers without a second's consideration. She sighed in consternation. She understood that in their world she was practically uninitiated, but give a girl a little credit! Besides, wasn't action the best way to learn?

They each had a niche that they exploited during their field research.

Young children, those below thirteen, and old women, usually above fifty-five responded more to Sam than Emily or Dean. It was probably because of his soulful puppy eyes. She wondered how he did that. Neither she nor Dean could summon that look at will. She supposed it was because he was naturally more emphatic than her or Dean; Sam could put himself in just about anyone's shoes very easily.

Well, Emily could get shellshocked witnesses to talk, faster than him and Dean. She imagined this was because she had once been in those witnesses' position and could relate to their terror, disbelief and an underlying dread that they were going crazy. Obviously, Sam and Dean had seen and experienced some out-of-this-world crazy things their whole life, way more than Emily ever had, but they had been introduced to the supernatural world as children and had accepted its existence early, so their suspension of belief was way higher than most people's. They did not understand the fear that came with thinking you were losing it. Emily did.

Dean was the expert at handling law enforcement, and women between twenty-one and forty. Maybe even forty-five. He could channel authoritativeness in a way neither she nor Sam could, not even on their bossiest day, and he was the absolute king of information retrieval by flirting. Sam rose to the occasion once in a while when the female in question showed more interest in him than in Dean, but it just wasn't his thing. As for Emily, between her protective brothers and their ridiculous rules, she never got a chance to see if she was any good at using flirting for information retrieval. She also never tagged along when the boys were pretending to be law enforcement officers of any kind, because having three officers on a case was not really believable, plus she didn't have the fake credentials, and was far too young looking anyway. Sam looked young too, but his credibility was rarely questioned, majorly because of Dean's sheer presence, and probably because Sam was a guy and a tall one at that. Still, during these exchanges, Sam was usually the quiet partner letting Dean take the lead.

Emily could pretend to be other things though. She'd successfully been a journalist, a party-planner and believe it or not a bounty hunter. That one had been Dean's idea obviously. He was the absolute master of pushing the envelope, and yet his schemes somehow worked out in the end.

Emily's looks affected her success of course. Older women, mostly those above sixty tended to go on about how their generation had been different, how they had behaved when they were her age, and how happy they were that things changed. They then proceeded to treat her like a favoured grandchild. Women between twenty-five and sixty noticed her youthfulness, some mentioned it in passing, but most chose to focus on whatever credentials she had shown them. Secure in themselves, they were polite, and professional in their words and actions. The ones who were mothers were likely to act more motherly. She seemed to get the worst out of females between fifteen and twenty-five. Most tended to get catty or act scornful and she usually left these to Dean or even Sam if neither was not engaged somewhere. If there was no choice, she tried to handle the situation by acting just as catty or calling on her temper and whiplash tongue. It mostly worked, but not at the best success level.

When it came to men, those above thirty-five noticed her youthfulness, and they either arrogantly dismissed her, treated her like an airhead or complied respectfully, depending on their views about women. For the former two, she would visibly straighten out and use her best Ellen Ripley imitation. They would then grudgingly cooperate. Younger men mostly noticed her looks and height and tended to either flirt flippantly or make derogatory comments depending on their esteem issues with tall women. The first time this had happened, she had stormed off in an annoyed huff to keep herself from smacking the idiot. Dean had given her a tongue lashing, he'd told her she'd wanted to hunt so she'd best handle all aspects of hunting. A job had to get done, no matter how annoying getting it done was. She and him had had a bit of a row then, with him telling her in disappointment that he had thought she was stronger than she was acting and she telling him he was the worst big brother ever. She had sheepishly taken this back an hour later after having a less charged talk with Sam. She now handled such guys with a lighthearted firmness, and surprisingly got results. No flirting though, because her brothers just couldn't countenance it. Dean had categorically said she could date when her age didn't end with a word that rhymed with keen!

Of course there were exceptions to all these categorizations, life never colours within the lines after all. There were lecherous old men and courteous young ones, there were confident, respectful younger women and insecure, rude, dismissive older ones, there were women who rebuffed Dean's advances, which was usually hilarious, and there were children who preferred to talk to Emily or Dean in lieu of Sam. However, these exceptions were few and in between.

* * *

After theorising, the three of them had concluded that the most possible cause of James' imminent violent death was likely a witch, using a hex bag. So they'd decided that if they got there before it got dark, Emily would pretend to be a Census Bureau officer, carrying out a Survey of Income and Program Participation to distract the house occupants, while Sam and Dean would sneak inside and try to find the hex bag and destroy it.

Splitting the driving nearly equally, they covered the seventeen hour drive in fifteen and a half hours and that included a six minute stop at a caravan park to illicitly use the showers, a four minute stop for coffee and doughnuts that Dean swore were made in heaven, and a drive thru lunch.

Emily had driven after Dean so Sam was at the wheel when they got to South Carolina. Dean was peering at the map trying to figure out which road to go down. They had discovered quite early that Emily could not navigate using a map. She'd been too dependent on her navigator which had of course stayed in her car.

"There!" Dean pointed out the small street sign. Sam slowed down even more as he turned into the street.

When they got to number 2925, Dean stopped the car. "Showtime!" he said excitedly. They exited the vehicle. "Good choice!" he commented about Emily's outfit. She was wearing a black long sleeved chiffon blouse with a ruffled bow, that she had tucked neatly into her jeans through which she had looped a simple black belt. Despite the jeans, it was a convincing smart but casual outfit for the role she was going to play.

"What about the hair? Is it fine as it is or should I take it down?" she asked, ever the consummate perfectionist.

She had taken to mainly wearing her hair in a French braid because better than a ponytail, the braid kept the hair out of her face and out of the way and it also made dealing with her hair easier. Managing curly hair under normal circumstances, was hard. It was damn near impossible managing curly hair on the road with two boys one of whom had a short, low-maintenance sort of buzz cut, and another whose hair just simply behaved perfectly. Even though Dean was always teasing Sam about his high maintenance hair, it wasn't really the case. Sam didn't really use much product and certainly didn't dwell on his hair too much. Living with boys had made Emily learn to survive with the bare minimum. After washing, conditioning and combing her hair, she braided it up and basically forgot about it until she needed to wear it down or wash it. The braid was not completely ideal because she still didn't like her forehead and ears being exposed, but the hassle of hair maintenance was just too much and she had had to choose practicality over vanity. Surprisingly though, on those rare occasions she took down the braid, usually to play a role, she found the hair looked great! Who would have thought that the less the fuss, the less the frizz!

"Definitely down," Sam answered without much deliberation.

"Could you be a bigger girl!" Dean snickered. He could never miss an opportunity to tease his brother. Emily glared at him, but Sam answered.

"She looks too much like a kid with it braided," he explained reasonably. Both Dean and Emily agreed he was right, Emily a lot more grudgingly.

She took down the braid and shook her hair out, it had grown beyond her shoulders, longer than she ever wore it before, but it looked awesome, if she said so herself. Feeling pleased and a little vain, who wouldn't, she tossed it over her shoulder with a theatric haughty flick, and got back into the car.

"Right! Be careful, okay." Sam said. Dean tipped an imaginary hat.

"You too, guys."

They walked away. She flipped open her wallet and exchanged her identification with the necessary one, located a worn clipboard folder and filled it with papers, most containing random math equations, but she made sure the top one was empty. Then she started the car, drove up to 2929 and packed along the curb.

Walking up to the house, she knocked on the door. A dumpy woman with a cataract in her left eye opened the door.

"Good evening ma'am. My name is Jordan O'Neil. I'm a census official, can I come in?" the woman looked unsure so Emily smiled what she hoped was a charming but slightly sheepish smile. "I know it's past five, but I kind of lost track of time in 2927, with all the stories. I guess I can come back tomorrow," she sighed sadly and made to turn away.

"It's not that much past five, dear! And I know the old coot down the road does love to talk!" the woman acquiesced with a laugh. "I gotta say, you look awful young!"

Yes, there it was, right on cue. Well, Emily had learnt quickly that being affronted by such a statement was a sure way to come off looking young, even younger than she really was, so lately, she accepted it graciously, pretending it was a compliment, even during those times when it clearly wasn't. At least this woman had not meant it as an insult.

"Why, if I had a dollar for every time I heard that, I wouldn't be doing this!" Emily said, with a long suffering sigh which she followed with a soft self-conscious laugh.

The woman laughed, reassured. "It seems like a curse now, but trust me, when you get to my age, looking younger than your years is a right blessing! Please come in, come in."

From the corner of her eye, Emily saw her brothers quickly disappear round the back of the house.

The woman led her to the living room, and offered coffee which Emily readily accepted. "If it's not too much to ask, can you make it fresh?" she asked sweetly.

When the woman disappeared to the kitchen, Emily quickly went over the living room. Nothing. The woman, Rose Cooper, returned with the coffee and couple of cupcakes. Emily smiled her thanks as she imagined the envious look on Dean's face when he saw how cushy her part was turning out to be. She asked the woman questions a census official might ask and wrote down the answers to appease her. Rose was a widow, had been for twenty-one years. She was currently unemployed and lived with her son who she was sure was on his way home from the community college he attended. She imparted this last information with an anticipation that was not lost on Emily.

Upstairs, Sam and Dean had split up so they could go through the rooms quickly. They met up on the landing, both empty handed. Even the EMF meter hadn't picked up anything.

"We need to check downstairs," Dean whispered.

"Yeah, but I think Rae covered the lounge area." Sam whispered back.

"And got free fresh coffee out of it too!" Dean complained. "The lucky punk!" He shuffled away from Sam and carefully leaned over the banister to see what was going on. Emily was strategically seated where she could watch both the front door and the stairs. Dean smiled with pride. She immediately caught the movement and without letting on, she looked up at him. He made a sign indicating that he and Sam needed to get downstairs into the kitchen. Her nod was almost imperceptible.

She smiled at Rose who was currently talking up her son. "Do you mind if I use your bathroom?"

"No, of course not, honey." Without leaving her seat, Rose directed Emily to the downstairs toilet. The instructions were so simple, Emily couldn't pretend she hadn't understood them. Damn, that hadn't worked as well as she'd hoped it would! She got up and quickly made her way to the room where she hid the toilet roll, before calling out loudly to Rose that there wasn't any bog roll!

Upstairs, her brothers snickered softly. God, their sister was mad! When Rose left the living room, the boys quickly sneaked downstairs into the kitchen.

Rose sorted the roll issue and returned to the living room. Emily quickly checked the closeted room, flushed the toilet, and when she got out, she swiftly checked the small cupboard under the stairs. Nothing. She returned to the living room and scanned it quickly. Her clipboard was in the same exact position she had left it in. Clearly, Rose was not a curious person, nor a paranoid one. She was not hiding anything.

"Well, I should get going!" Emily began saying her goodbye. "Thanks for the coffee, and the cupcake. It was really good." She grabbed her folder and both she and Rose stood. They both paused when they heard a car pull up in the driveway and the fumble of keys in the door soon after. The door opened to reveal a young man, who stopped short when he saw Emily. He was probably Sam's age, give or take a year and he looked like Hollywood's surfer dude stereotype with his shaggy blond hair and light blue eyes. Emily did not understand why his mother needed to talk him up. The guy was a hunk.

"Hey!" he said uncomfortably.

"Hi!" Emily smiled. James was awkward, not in a shy, tongue-tied way but in a put out way. Like he had been planning to come home and relax, and now he had to entertain!

"This is Miss O'Neil, she's with the Census Bureau." Rose introduced Emily.

"Please, call me Jordan!" Emily interjected.

"Nice to meet you." James extended his hand. He looked a little flushed and she could see he was distracted, even as he spoke.

"Good to meet you too," Emily shook hands, "but you'll have to excuse me because I was actually leaving." she added graciously.

"James will walk you to your car!" Rose decreed.

"He doesn't have to!" Emily objected.

"I don't mind," James said rolling his eyes at his mother, something Emily was sure she wasn't meant to see so she pretended she hadn't. She thanked Rose again and stepped out of the house.

"Forgive my mum. She fancies herself a matchmaker. It's embarrassing really!" James followed her outside.

"Well, it's a mother's prerogative to be embarrassing." Emily said wistfully. She could give anything to be embarrassed by her mother.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

"What?"

"Your mother's gone, isn't she? Your voice is kinda telling."

Emily swallowed a lump. "So what's up with you? Had a bad day?" she changed the subject swiftly.

"More like a bad week."

"What happened?"

"Oh, nothing really!" he said cagily.

"Well, who better to dump on than a total stranger!" she said trying for a breezy but disinterested tone but failing dismally as it came off sounding eagerly curious.

He looked searchingly at her. She was not sure what he saw in the gathering dusk, but he spoke. "I'm hot!"

"I can see that!" Emily quipped. She blushed and her heart thumped at the truth of her flippant careless remark.

James sputtered a surprised laugh, "Thank you, you're smoking yourself!" he said with a grin.

She colored even more at the compliment which was said sincerely, with no demeaning connotations, and no expectations.

He smiled before he spoke again. "I meant it literally though. A few days back, I woke up feeling unusually hot. But get this, I didn't have a fever or anything, the heat was more on the inside," he paused for a moment then taking Emily's silence as a positive sign, he continued less sheepishly. "At first I ignored it, thought I was imagining things, but the temperature seemed to rise each day, began to get more than uncomfortable. So two days ago I went to see a doctor. My mother insisted on coming along. As you noticed she doesn't get out much so she uses any excuse to leave the house. Guess what? The doctor found nothing wrong with me, at least not physically. He gave me Thorazine for my trouble!"

"That really sucks. Are you in pain?" Emily was genuinely concerned.

"Not since I got my hands on some morphine!" Then his eyes widened as he remembered who she was. "Shit! Please, don't tell anyone that! I take just enough to keep the pain at bay. I don't pass out or anything!" he defended himself quickly.

She had an oh moment, realising that the morphine was why he was flushed. "That's not my department anyway so your secret is safe with me!" she said lightly, but her stomach churned sickeningly with the moral dilemma his confession had given her and by proxy, her brothers. Illicitly using morphine was a terrible dangerous idea, but he was in pain that no one else but them acknowledged so she couldn't begrudge him the drug.

James saw the torn look on her face and decided to end the chat while he was still ahead. "Great! Well, I gotta let you go before it gets too dark."

"Right! Sure … it was good taking to you!" she smiled distractedly, got into the car and drove away. She found her brothers in a park a little past where they had gotten out of the car earlier. They bounded over, Dean went round to the driver's side and Sam opened the passenger door, so Emily ended up wedged between them. She wiggled herself into a comfortable position. Thank Pythagoras for bucket seats.

"Finally!" Dean complained. "We were beginning to think you'd decided to stay for dinner too!"

"Did you find anything?" Emily asked ignoring his bellyaching. She knew he had just been worried. He and Sam had probably been debating whether to return to the house for her.

"No! Did you?" Sam answered.

"No, but I talked to James." She then recounted the conversation she and James had had, but for obvious reasons left out the compliments they had exchanged.

"Shit!" Dean said as he started the car.

"So eloquent!" Emily muttered. "So now what?" she added after a beat.

"I don't know! Sam, in your freaky dream, did you see when exactly he would bite it?"

"I didn't get a date or time specifics, but it was light outside." Sam said with a half shrug.

"Okay, for now I say we go get something to eat then look for a decent motel so you two geek princesses can wash your hair and get on your computers for research, while I hit the local bars."

* * *

**A/N: Anyone noticed the shout-outs?**


	3. Chapter 3

Bobby hadn't even been looking when he found it. In a Dutch collection of war stories, no less. The storybook had been bequeathed to him along with others by a friend, long dead. This friend hadn't even been a hunter, just been an ordinary guy, from Bobby's life before Karen's death. The man had however been an avid collector of eccentric books. The only reason Bobby had kept the books was because he didn't do much spring cleaning. Actually, he didn't do any spring cleaning. He never threw anything out, that did not rot, unless of course he counted John Winchester!

Well, this lucky discovery had now given Bobby a great anecdote to use when people asked him why he kept so much junk. He read most of the book before he called Dean.

"Sam, answer it!" Dean said of his ringing phone. He had just stepped out of the bathroom and was shrugging on his jacket so he could leave for the bar as planned.

Sam reached across the nightstand to get the phone. "Hey Bobby! Is everything okay? I thought Rae called you the night before last?" he greeted. Without fail, Emily called Bobby once every ten days to check in. It gave both of them comfort and kept the three Winchesters somehow anchored in a nomadic life.

"Hi Sam! Are the other two chuckleheads there?" Bobby replied gruffly.

"Yeah, they're here," he said cautiously, catching his siblings' concerned eyes.

"Good. Put me on speaker, will yah!"

"Sure." Sam tinkered with the phone before announcing, "Go ahead." Emily and Dean scooted over to his bed.

"So I think I've found it. The thing that tried to kill you, Emily … I believe it's called a reaver."

"River? Like Phoenix?" Dean asked.

"No idjit! And why you'd go for Phoenix as an explanation instead of just saying water beats me! Anyway, it's R-E-A-V-E-R. If you look it up in those common place dictionaries, to reave is to rob by force. However, what those dictionaries don't mention, probably because their authors don't know, is that there is a third meaning; to rob and cleave. Well, technically that's what this thing is; it's a robber and a cleaver. Kinda clever right? Robber plus cleaver equals reaver!"

The three Winchesters chuckled at Bobby's atrocious rhyming, and his attempt to lighten the moment. Black humor was not an alien concept to most hunters anyway.

Bobby continued. "So anyway, a reaver can make a person do so many evil things, but it's commonest MO is making a person commit suicide. In this way, the reaver robs the purity of the soul and cleaves it from the body. You know suicide is a one way ticket to the pit right?"

"Yeah," Sam and Dean answered offhandedly, eager to hear the rest of what Bobby had to say.

Emily's answer was different. She spoke in a breathy shocked voice. "What?"

"Wait, what? You didn't know that?" Dean asked, his surprise evident.

Both him and Sam looked up at her. They watched in confused silence as her eyes grew in horror. Bobby's words and their implications slowly sunk in for all three of them.

Emily had always thought it was religious bullshit that propagated and reinforced the idea that people who committed suicide went to hell. She had actually never believed in hell, nor in heaven for that matter, so even though her parents' deaths had been devastating, she had consoled herself with the notion that they no longer felt anything. Then when she had been introduced to this supernatural life and had learnt that all the things she'd dismissed were real, she had managed to convince herself that her lost family members were in heaven since they had all been good people. But now she was being told that it might not be the case after all; that they lived on in agony, being punished for something they hadn't consciously had a hand in.

"Shit!" Dean whispered as he too came to the same conclusion that Emily had.

Despite knowing about suicide and hell, Sam, and Dean and Bobby had never really considered the ramifications it held for Emily's dead relatives. Truth be told, the three of them and probably even John, hadn't really thought about those people beyond the fact that they were dead and had died before Emily had turned up in the hunters' lives, alone, grieving, and later looking for vengeance. They hadn't considered, even once, that the deceased were in heaven, or hell. Heck, they hadn't even considered the possibility that their spirits were not at rest.

"I think that only applies to people who deliberately commit suicide. Your parents didn't. They were forced. That should count for something. Right, Bobby?" Sam had caught on too, but he, ever empathetic, tried to offer solace.

There was silence on Bobby's end; a silence that spoke louder than any words Bobby could have said. When he had found the information, Bobby had known the consequences of a reaver's actions, but even he hadn't thought about Emily's late kin until now. His thoughts had only been for Emily and what this meant for her.

Emily's eyes grew glassy with tears. She took a shuddering breath and let it out in slow, measured puffs through her mouth in an attempt to keep from crying. It broke her heart that her family was suffering even now, but tears wouldn't help anyone anyway. The tactic worked, kept the tears at bay, at least for the moment.

"I'm sorry!" Sam said gently.

Emily could feel the guilt emanating from him and from Dean, and even from Bobby who wasn't physically present. "It's not your fault," she absolved them all, but she knew they would always carry the guilt with them, as she would too. They felt guilty for losing sight of the innocents who had been lost and she felt guilty for being the reason those lost had been taken.

Dean sighed. No matter what anyone said, he'd feel responsible. They all would. Guilt was the bane of a hunter. Even the most logical hunter irrationally blamed himself for things that couldn't have been helped. Guilt, more than anything else, that was the heaviest burden they all carried.

Well, now was not the time for emotional breakdowns so Emily stomped on the pain she felt, and covered it up with cold stoic. When it became evident that no one wanted to break the silence, she prompted Bobby. "So what else did you find?"

They all heard Bobby shift uncomfortably before he spoke, more gently and hesitantly than he had before. "Well, reavers don't go around killing people for the hell of it. They're unbelievably powerful creatures, but they're not exactly motivated self-starters. They have to be controlled, and obviously, most times they are controlled by demons. See when demons for whatever reason, want a particular soul down in hell as quick as possible, and the soul is pure, they can't hang around topside tempting the person until he perverts his soul with sins. So they send a reaver to achieve two things for them, to pervert the soul quickly and cleave it from the body."

"Wait, demons can possess people. Why don't they just do it themselves?" Sam asked.

"Because they can't. You see demons and their counterparts, angels …"

"There's no such thing as angels!" Dean objected, and with his words, he unintentionally cracked the uncomfortable atmosphere.

Sam rolled his eyes. His usual argument of 'just because we haven't met one yet doesn't mean they don't exist' was on the tip of his tongue when Bobby answered.

"I know that wise guy, but there's lore on them and I'm just telling it as I've read it!" he snapped. The acerbic, gruff man they knew and loved was back, replacing the pussyfooting, cautious stranger he had temporarily become.

"Sorry. Please continue." Dean said, duly chastened. Emily stifled a smile at the look on his face. Sam had no such qualms and he openly snickered at his brother who glared back at him.

"Knucklehead!" Bobby complained before continuing his tale. "According to lore," he said this extra slowly and loudly, then continued normally, "when a demon or angel possesses a person, their actions only affect the person's body but his soul is left intact. Demons can't imprint on a soul. So if you get possessed by a demon, you basically remain an innocent meat-suit, but when a reaver gets inside you … well, let's just say that's a whole different kind of stain. Of course like a demon, a reaver can get you to do so many twisted things, but remember, its bosses have basically given it a tight deadline and it can't waste time getting a person to commit grave sins so the soul can be corrupted, so it does the quickest thing. It makes the person commit suicide. Bam, one hell bound soul."

There was silence in the room as the trio assimilated that information.

"Now, there's another reason why demons use reavers. They're like soul-detectors. A reaver can home in on a target soul in seconds. The thing is like a supernatural smart bomb. When a Reaver is seeked on you, it'll find you. The only time it will fail is if the person is cloaked. Emily, I believe that is what your ring does; it cloaks your soul. Not just from reavers, but from demons, and if they existed, angels too."

"Really?" Emily was intrigued. Finally there was evidence beyond the letters that proved her ring was useful.

"Yeah. However, this doesn't mean you're invisible or anything, so don't get cocky! They just can't find you using supernatural methods, but think twice before you decide to stand in front of a demon, because trust me, it'll be able to see you and hurt you and possibly get a reaver to kill you."

Fair enough! It was not like she was going to catwalk in front of a demon or anything. "So why does the ring only work until I'm 21? What is so special about 21?"

"It's not your age that's important. It's just that most cloaking spells have expiration dates ranging from months to years. Your ring I believe was made to work for five years. You got it when you were sixteen, but it was made months before your sixteenth birthday, so technically the ring will stop working before your twenty-first birthday."

"Oh!" Well, she had a ways to go. She was still eighteen, well almost nineteen. Which reminded her, Sam's twenty-second birthday was in two weeks! She needed to get him a present. What would she get him? He was hard to shop for, unlike Dean, who was still a child in so many ways and was easily appeased. She could get Dean a toy lightsaber and he'd be ecstatic! Oh, decisions, decisions, decisions! Emily had deliberately got sidetracked. She didn't want to be part of this discussion anymore because she knew the next logical question would be why demons wanted her. She decided she didn't want to know, so she checked out. This was her way of screaming la la la without making a sound. However, once again, her brothers surprised her.

"How do we kill this thing?" Dean asked with a hard voice. No evil son of a bitch was allowed to have a contract out on his sister! Sam nodded as if he knew what Dean was thinking.

Emily was pleasantly surprised that the discussion had not gone down the road she'd thought it would, and she slightly tuned back into the conversation.

However, silence was the only answer. But it was a loud telling silence.

"Bobby?" Sam drew out slowly, in dread. Whatever the method was, it obviously wasn't ideal. Sam really didn't want to know, but he needed to know. Side glances at his siblings established that they felt exactly the same. Both had the look of a person who is aware they're going to receive bad news.

"Aaaah … well, the book I'm reading, says you um … trap one in the person it's in and then you ... eeer ... drown the person or burn them at the stake!"

There was a stunned silence. The three of them stared down at the phone in shocked horror.

"What?" Dean finally chocked out.

"They killed the victims?" Sam was aghast.

"Apparently, they were bigger on saving the person's soul than saving the person's life." Bobby said curtly. This phone call was making his head ache. And why were the boys making it sound like it was his idea? Like he was same evil shaman?

"That's nuts!" Dean said.

"Completely!" Sam agreed.

"I know that, yah damn idjits! I am just telling you what the book says. Of course I'll keep researching for other methods!"

"There must be another way!" Dean was clearly no longer listening to Bobby.

"I'm sure there is." Sam mused. He too had completely forgotten about the phone and Bobby.

On his end of the phone Bobby rolled his eyes. "Hey Emily, you okay?" he decided to talk to the only person who might still be listening to him.

"Well, considering I just found out that my grandfather, my dad, and my biological mother are in hell, and that my mum escaped the same fate only because that foul thing didn't get into her instead, and she was instead shot in the head by the man she loved, and I've just learnt that the only way to save me is to ... well, kill me painfully … meh, I'm fantastic!" Emily spoke flippantly, and sarcastically.

"Look, I'm not suggesting that …"

"I know you're not, Bobby! I guess we're all a little shocked, that's all." Emily sighed.

"You'll be fine, you know that right? Your brothers and I won't let anything happen to you."

"I know," she said simply and truthfully. "Thanks, Bobby."

There was nothing else to say. Bobby hang up and held his head in his hands. God, these Winchesters never caught any breaks, did they?

Emily looked at her brothers. They were lost in thought, looking as shell shocked as she felt and probably looked.

"You know what guys? Stop worrying about what might be. We have a case to focus on right now!" She was sad and scared … no, if she was really honest, she was piss-your-pants terrified, but they didn't need to know that. She was after all a proponent of the fake it till you make it philosophy.

Her brothers looked at her in shock, like they couldn't believe she was thinking about a case at a time like this.

She raised her eyebrow. "Look, there's no reaver right now, and someone else's life is in danger!" she said.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. He hated to admit it, but he knew she was right. She wasn't in immediate danger, but James Cooper was. "I don't necessarily have to do research at a bar." He was no longer as thrilled about hitting the bars as he had been earlier.

His suggestion shook Sam out of his distress. Much as Sam loved his brother's company, a bored Dean was an annoying Dean, and if he and Emily were going to be on their computers researching, then obviously Dean would get bored. So Sam insisted, "Yes you do."

"Will you guys be okay?" Dean really was reluctant to leave.

"We'll be fine!" Emily rolled her eyes.

"Sure?"

"Go!" both Sam and Emily yelled fondly.

Dean stood up and popped his jacket's collar. He got his phone and wallet and placed them in his pockets. Swaggering exaggeratedly to the door, he sang, "Don't you two geeks wish you were cool like me!"

"Uuh … no!" Sam deadpanned.

"You lie!" Dean said in a theatrically wounded voice. An appreciative, unrestrained giggle escaped Emily and the brothers smiled. Mission accomplished. "Later losers," Dean half waved then turned to leave.

"Don't pick up a harpy!" Emily called out.

"Or herpes!" Sam added.

All three snorted with laughter. Humor! The tested weapon the Winchesters wielded against every single thing life threw at them. Coupled with their close relationship, their stubbornness and a small quantity of unhealthy denial, it served them well. It kept the personal demons at bay.

In the room, the laughter slowly faded, but the determination to hold on to the false positivity was still strong. With identical grins, Sam and Emily looked at each other then scrambled off the bed.

Since he had been going out, Dean had had first use of the shower so now with him gone, there was a sudden mad dash for second place that Sam won. It helped that he did not have to go through his bag looking for a matching pajama set like his finicky sister. He could have let her win, but that would have ruined the successful pretense they had going. If they acted like everything was fine, then everything really was fine. He knew Emily was feeling fragile, who wouldn't after that phone call? He was reeling, and he hadn't been the subject. But unless she outright admitted it, they would all pretend she was fine.

After their showers, the two sat side by side on Sam's bed and concentrated on their computers. Sam was tasked with trying to come up with other supernatural causes aside from a witch while Emily was researching the town and the Coopers. Four and a half hours later with their eyes aching from the strain of staring at the computer screens, Sam and Emily conceded defeat.

It was hard to come up with other suspects, when Sam had nothing to go on but a dream. Sometimes forewarned was not forearmed, because they did not know what to arm themselves against and how to stop it. They had found absolutely no clues in the house and without clues, it was hard to get a solution. It broke Sam's heart to realise that the atrocity might have to occur before they could stop who or what was responsible.

There was considerable information about the town, but it really wasn't relevant to their situation. Emily needed to know whether the town had a violent history or whether someone close to the Coopers had died recently or whether James or his ancestors was responsible for someone's death but nothing came up.

"You know what? This is useless. I think I need to check out the library," she told Sam as she closed down the four tabs she had opened and shut down her computer. She got off the bed and stretched popping her shoulders loudly.

"Yeah, and I need to talk to some people," he agreed on a sigh. He shut his down as well, and reached for the journal John had left Dean. He'd sleep after reading it.

Emily got into her bed, this time a fold up cot that had been brought into the room at Dean's request. It was so narrow it should technically be called a strip. "Night!" she called out.

"Sleep well." Sam replied.

They both desperately hoped she would.

It took longer than it usually did for her to fall asleep, but within an hour, she was out for the count. Sam lay back and closed his eyes too.

* * *

While awake, they could use denial all they wanted, but their dreams certainly did not support the folly.

The nightmare was vivid. The colors brilliant in their horror, the sensation so real that she could feel the heat, and the sweat pouring off her body. Worst of all were the sounds; she could hear the guttural screams and the pain filled howls with heartrending clarity. There were probably millions there, but everyone was faceless with the exception of her father. But even his face was nearly unrecognizable as it was twisted grotesquely in agony.

_"Ems, help me … please!" he begged. His voice scratchy from all the screaming._

_Without hesitation, she reached out for him, but she couldn't get to him. It felt like she was stuck in a pit of glue. She fought hard to free herself so she could reach him, twisting her body and pulling at her legs, but it was useless. She sobbed and panted with the exertion, her breath hitching with the struggle. When her brain finally decided her struggles were an exercise in futility, she gave up with a heart broken sob. "I'm sorry, dad. I'm so sorry."_

_But he kept begging her, "Please Ems, help me. You have to help me."_

_"I can't! I'm trying, dad, I really am." Tears run down her face further distorting her view of her father's face._

_But he wouldn't stop begging for help and she couldn't stop expressing her regret. She wiped away the relentless tears and disgusting snot with the sleeve of her shirt, not caring about how that looked. Her heart breaking over again with each failed try._

Across the room, Sam, a light sleeper at the best of times, opened his eyes and watched his sister. Emily had never been a restless sleeper, but now she was sleeping fitfully, tossing and turning in distress. He feared she would fall off the ridiculously narrow bed, and it was probably providence that kept her on the bed. Then the sobs began and he thought his heart might break. When he caught the words she said brokenly, "I'm sorry, dad. I'm so sorry," Sam's heart really shattered.

He got off his bed and went over to her.

"Emily?" he tried but she didn't wake. He debated about what to do. Their sister was rather complex. She was openly affectionate under normal circumstances, but when she was hurting, physically or emotionally, she tended to put up a wall. It wasn't a crazy high, thick insurmountable wall like Dean's and it was considerably lower than Sam's own, but despite that, it was hard during such times to know where she drew her line between what she considered acceptable affection and what she perceived as intolerable coddling. So unless she expressly sought physical comforting, they did not extend it, choosing instead to use words. But now she was asleep. Words couldn't possibly help.

"I can't! I'm trying, dad!" Emily whispered brokenly.

Oh screw complexities! He had to do something. She might chew him up for it if she woke, but he couldn't just stand here and do nothing. With a small amount of anxiety, he perched uncomfortably at the edge of the narrow bed and began to run a hand through Emily's hair. At first his motions were hesitant and jerky, but became more natural as his self-consciousness reduced. He began to speak in a soft, gentle voice, "It's okay!" and quickly changed it to "It'll be okay!" when he realised the falsity of the first statement. Nothing was okay. Nothing about their lives was okay. But one day it would be. Sam had enough hope for all of them.

As he whispered those words, he suddenly felt like a parent comforting a child, and for an unsettling second, he nearly laughed. His actions, however, seemed to be helping. Emily was visibly calming down. Sam smiled in relief, resisting the urge to kiss her forehead. She'd definitely kick him for that.

* * *

Dean gave it up after six hours and three shitty bars. If he had not hustled pool, the evening would have been a complete bust. He had not learnt anything of importance and he wasn't even in the mood to flirt, his mind back in the motel with his siblings. Besides, he was feeling kind of achy. He must be more fatigued than he'd thought.

* * *

Hearing a key insert in the door lock, Sam grabbed his gun and aimed it discreetly at the door. He figured it was Dean returning, but in their world, there was no such thing as too careful. Dean walked in through the door and cautiously stepped over the salt line. Satisfied that it was really his brother, Sam put away the gun.

Dean quickly took in the scene and crossed over to Sam and Emily. "What happened? Is she okay?" he whispered urgently.

"Nightmare. She was fine till she fell asleep. She's a wreck, Dean."

"She knows we wouldn't hurt her!" Dean was disbelieving. His eyes shifting from Emily to Sam.

"Of course she knows that. She's dreaming about her father."

"Oh! Survivor's guilt." Dean said sagely and sadly.

Sam stopped in shock. He had to admit that sometimes Dean really surprised him.

Without even a hint of self-consciousness, Dean gently grazed his knuckles down Emily's cheek, surprising Sam even more.

"Just like you!" Dean added without looking at Sam.

There was a long silence before Sam assented with a soft snort, "Yeah I guess," and a mystified head shake. Not wanting to leave an opening for Dean to ask about his dreams, Sam asked him whether he had got any information at the bar.

"Nothing. But I made a couple of bucks so it wasn't a complete waste of time. We've gotta hit the ground running tomorrow, so we'd better hit the sack."

Sam was reluctant to go to bed, not only because he was concerned about Emily, but because he was afraid of what his own dreams would bring.

In that night's version of his nearly recurring dream, in place of Jessica, Sam saw Emily burning on the ceiling.


	4. Chapter 4

It was during such nights, nights with no activity, that the loneliness really came home to roost. It was only then that John allowed himself to feel the losses he had suffered. He missed his Mary; it was an ache, ever present but no longer debilitating. What was debilitating, was how much he missed his children. All four of them. That is why he concentrated on his mission, on his quest to save them, but never allowed himself to think emotionally about them until quiet moments like this when his emotional guards fell. He hadn't seen any of his children in a while. He had intentions to, but something always got in the way.

He realised sadly that he didn't even have a picture of Emily, heck, even the few pictures he had of Sam and Dean were dated. In the latest he had they were ten and fourteen. Picture taking opportunities had not really presented themselves frequently in their nomadic life, but if he was being truthful, he had to admit it was he who was picture shy, and his hangups had rubbed off on his sons. He vowed that the next time he saw his children, he would take them, with his sons most likely kicking and screaming, to one of those photo booths and take pictures with them. He smiled as he thought about how each of the three would react to that. Dean would shield his siblings and probably begin an exorcism, Sam would look at him in wide-eyed shock and suspicion and Emily would watch them all in puzzlement wondering why everyone was making a big deal out of something so everyday.

In the silence, John also vowed that when all this was over, his four children would all get together. Adam needed to meet his siblings, and it would be great for the others too. Feeling a little better, he looked down at the information he'd collected. With a wry smile, he fleeting thought about how he needed to stop tearing pages out of library books when he got tired of writing things down, and embrace technology instead. That would make Sam happy.

The bloody colt was proving elusive so he was reading up on any demon lore he could find to see if there were other ways of killing Azazel, and if he could figure out which evil s.o.b. was after his daughter. John had learnt with shock and annoyance, that Azazel wasn't the demon that wanted to kill Emily. It appeared like there were two factions in the demon world. He had been hoping he could end both quests with one dead demon. Uh, well, he'd always known life sucked, so that wasn't new.

* * *

Gray, did not question why his master wanted the Emily girl. He didn't care. He was just glad to be out of that hell hole, literary speaking! He knew it was unusual for a demon as young as him to be enlisted for anything, no matter how minor. He also knew that the other demons had looked at his appointment with unconcealed envy and hate. He didn't care about that either. Demons weren't known for their support and goodwill anyway.

He had started the search as soon as he was alone. Slacking on this job was not punishable with a small slap on the wrist as his predecessor, Damien had fatally learnt. Using the resources Damien had had but not used, Gray had traced the girl to Brandon with relative ease. Then the trail had seemingly run cold. In the general vicinity of this town, she had suddenly stopped using her credit cards and her phone had been switched on and off intermittently for a few weeks before it had been turned off permanently.

Gray was not deterred. Using a picture he had pilfered from a pink haired girl who hadn't heard from his mark in ages, Gray began asking around the town. He had learnt that Emily had worked two completely different jobs in the town and had even rented an apartment. He was going to follow the job leads because they seemed more likely to lead somewhere, then he found out from an annoyingly chatty woman that the day the girl had checked out of her apartment, was the day she had been admitted to Sanford Hospital. He decided to go with that lead instead. Hospitals kept much better records than diners anyway.

At the hospital, he was thwarted by the overly ethical, unbending nurse he found on duty. She adamantly refused to give him information on the girl despite seeing his license. She argued he was not a law enforcement officer and his license held no power. He had felt a rage so deep that only his master's words not to draw undue and unfavourable attention to his meat-suit, had kept him from tearing out the unyielding woman's heart where she sat. He could not afford to burn his disguise.

His master really couldn't have chosen a better skin-puppet. Nathan was handsome and suave without being overbearing. He was charming and engaging and most people, responded to him. Children and animals didn't seem to like him very much though, but Gray supposed it wasn't the meat-suit's fault as much as it was Gray's. Children and animals were perceptive after all. Nathan was also a registered PI who had both a BSIS (Bureau of Security and Investigative Services) exposed firearms permit, and a concealed weapons permit and could therefore carry a concealed gun. While packing was not so important to Gray, since his powers though not as formidable as other demons' powers far outstripped a gun, carrying a firearm for some reason gave people pause and gave an added sense of importance to the puppet he was wearing.

With an annoyed growl at the woman who remained completely unmoved, Gray commandeered Nathan out of the hospital and into the bathroom of a nearby convention centre where he made him cuff himself inside a stall before head-butting the wall to knock him out. He then exited in a burst of black smoke.

The woman at the front desk was impenetrable to him; he wasn't strong enough to get into someone with no chink in the armour. Damn, he hated emotionally stable humans! So instead Gray travelled through the vents of the hospital until he found a good candidate. Wearing the new body of the cute nurse with serious body image issues, he returned to the front desk.

"Can I use the computer for a minute?" he asked using the nurse's honeyed voice. The other woman smiled brightly and moved over. He quickly typed in Emily's name and hit dividends immediately.

The girl had been treated for self-inflicted cuts to her arms. Of course Gray knew a reaver had had a hand in it. The imagined wordplay made him chuckle lightly. He read on. The girl could have signed herself out of the hospital as she was legally an adult, but because her mental state had been in question, she had been signed out under the care of a guy named Bobby Singer on condition that she regularly check in with her psychiatrist who had been named as Jim Murphy. Both men's addresses were duly listed. He wrote down both addresses, admiring his temporary meat-suit's neat penmanship, then he smiled his thanks at the first woman and walked away. He abandoned the nurse's unconscious body in a janitor's closet and returned to the bathroom where he had left Nathan.

Nathan was awake, which was amazing given how hard the blow to his head had been, and he was trying to kick down the door of the stall. If Gray had been just a minute longer, his rather confused but pissed off meat-suit would have been discovered by the janitor who was at the moment heading into the bathroom with a wary look on his face. Gray forced his way back into Nathan and unlocked the cuffs, just as the janitor opened the door.

Feeling jubilant, Gray had immediately headed out to find Bobby Singer. To his utter disbelief, the address given was fake. Well, actually, the address existed, but the abandoned warehouse that occupied it was clearly not this Bobby Singer's home. Gray had been pissed to say the least. Jim Murphy's address was just as fake. It was an empty lot.

Gray had been at a loss. There were three Robert Singers, five Robert Songs … he had checked just in case … and two Jim Murphys in the phone book, and he was fairly certain the names were fake anyway. What the hell? Who were these people who had signed the kid out of the hospital and where were they hiding her? Why were they even hiding her? Who was she to them? This kid wasn't supposed to know or have anyone devoted enough to help her like that; everyone that could have was supposed to be dead.

Having no choice, and having wasted too much time already, Gray went to the office she had worked at. Another dead end. They had her information on file, but most was not helpful. He knew she had vacated the apartment so that address wasn't relevant, the phone listed was turned off, the social security number was pointless, and the listed next of kin were Jackie and Wade whose legal guardianship had ended the day Emily had turned eighteen, but whom she had then given durable power of attorney. Gray had to admit that if nothing, the girl was smart.

Fortunately, that office visit hadn't been completely useless. He had gotten Jackie and Wade's address. He headed over. Another dead end. She had called them once every month, until three months back. However, they were not overly concerned about this because she had informed them she was going backpacking with friends in Europe for the better part of the year. Apparently, she was on a find-yourself quest, which they thought was very brave of her. Gray had wanted to bash Jackie's head against the wall until her brains stained that sunny yellow room, but he had restrained himself. They were not lying to him. He knew it was the kid that had lied to them. He'd checked. She'd never left the country. If she had, then she had to have used a false passport. That seemed highly unlikely. The kid was not that sophisticated and besides, she didn't have a reason for using fake identification. He didn't think she had any concept of just how much danger she was really in, he didn't believe she knew that she was wanted by a demon. Still, he wondered why she had lied to the undynamic duo. Was she hiding something?

That made him think. He had also learnt from Jackie and Wade that Emily had originally left home on a find-my-biological-father quest, and had only decided to go on the find-myself quest when she'd failed to locate the man. Gray had dismissed that information, not finding it prudent, but now he had to wonder. The kid was smart, no doubt about that, but she was naive and yet she had suddenly pulled off a disappearing act when all the events prior her hospitalization pointed to a rather clueless individual, who had used her credit cards and left a paper trail so easy to follow, it bordered on ridiculous. So either she was dead, or she had somehow met someone who had clued her in and helped her. Why else had Damien failed to find her with his scrying when he had been able to find her once before? Gray suddenly realised something … the kid must have found her biological father!

As he raged about that, he also reached another conclusion. Whoever the kid's father was, the man was aware of the supernatural world and had enough knowledge to not only keep her alive, but also to conceal her. He also obviously had enough grit to take her in despite the target on her back and how likely she was to bring monsters to his door. It seemed very likely that the man was one of these hunters he had heard the other demons talk about when he had been downstairs. Some demons spoke of hunters with fear, others spoke with hate filled bravado, but they all consistently spoke of them with grudging respect. And there were hunters whose names were outright legendary. With his luck, this kid was likely the spawn of one of those! Gray was beginning to realise that he was fucked either way. Whether he found the kid or not, he was most likely not getting out of this.

Jackie and Wade didn't know who Emily's father was. She'd never told them. Gray could have cursed the sun from the sky. He was so angry. Just his luck! It was going to be a bitch finding this man. Gray was going to have to track down Emily's adoption records, which wasn't going to be easy, then use information from those records to track down her birth records. Bureaucracy! Aside from hell, there was probably nothing Gray hated more than bureaucracy. And that was even assuming the father's name was on record. From his master's accounts, Gray knew the girl's mother had been a bit of a loony. Before taking that road, he decided to return to Brandon and check out the diner. He didn't really think he was going to find anything there, he just didn't want to leave any stone unturned. Maybe, if despite his efforts, he failed to find the girl, his master wouldn't be too angry.

So he drove back to Brandon and to the diner. A waitress whose breasts were threatening to fall out her blouse came up to him. Her name tag read Wendy.

"I need to talk to your manager!" he told her using his harassed officer voice. She walked away, wriggling her hips more than necessary. He rolled his eyes and waited, leaning insolently against the counter. She returned and led him round back to the manager's office, which was really a cubicle with an inflated sense of worth calling itself an office! The manager, Carl got up to greet him and before sitting back down, he adjusted his pants over his paunch.

"How can I help you Mr…."

"Wood. Nathan Wood. I'm looking for a girl, Emily Avis-Raines. She worked here before."

"Yes she did, but she isn't here anymore. What is this about? Is she in trouble? Are you some kind of cop?"

"I'm a private investigator. I'm looking for her on behalf of her parents. They're worried about her. They've not heard from her since she left home."

"She told me her parents were dead." Carl said suspiciously.

"Well, she lied. Most runaways do that."

Carl gave Nathan a hard look and for a minute Gray thought the man could see him and not his meat-suit. "So what exactly do you want from me?"

"Information. About where she might have gone, or who she might have gone with."

Carl knew runaways lied. He also knew teenagers run away from home all the time for all sorts of reasons, many of them non-issues. However, Emily had struck him as an intelligent, level headed kid and he doubted she had run from her parents to get their attention or for the sake of drama or because they did not understand that she wanted to live her life her way. Besides she hadn't looked like a kid who had been mistreated or unloved or rejected. And the grief in her eyes, when she told him she had lost her parents had been real and he believed her. Furthermore, she hadn't behaved like she was on the run; for one, she drove a car anyone would notice, classics stood out that way, and secondly, she hadn't been skittish, she hadn't been looking behind her shoulder all the time or jumping at shadows. Also, all that aside, she was legally an adult and her decisions were her own. If she had left home in a quest for independence, then her parents should respect her decision. But most of all, Carl did not like or trust the man in front of him. He couldn't articulate why, but he felt something was off about Nathan Wood. So with a slight sneer, Carl answered dismissively, "I do not concern myself with my employee's personal lives!"

"Can I talk to your other employees then?" Gray refused to be deterred by this Geppetto wannabe.

Carl could not think of an excuse to refuse the man's request so he said sure. He could have told Nathan to come back later and just interview June because she was the only other employee he had seen Emily interact with, but Carl decided to keep the information to himself. Let Nathan talk to everyone, let him waste his time. Carl wanted to chuckle as he thought about how each individual would annoy Nathan.

"You can use my office!" Carl offered cheerfully. "I have to go buy supplies anyway!"

Nathan's eyes narrowed as Gray realised Carl might be laughing at him. Carl stood up, refused to shake hands with Nathan and walked out of the room. Gray confirmed the man was indeed taking the piss when the first person he sent in was Wendy!

An hour and a half later, Gray was fuming. How Carl had managed to keep the diner running with a bunch of morons as employees was beside him!

Wendy who barely had any shifts with Emily, was adamant that Emily had been banging the manager. She had no proof, she just knew. Well, Gray knew jealousy when he saw it. This one would make a great addition downstairs. Oh how he wished he could snuff out her light.

Sheryl another waitress, had not crossed shifts with Emily even once. That didn't stop her from theorizing how the girl had really got that classic ride of hers. Gray had groaned in annoyance.

The other three girls were new and hadn't met Emily. Gray dismissed them before they began to speak. The dishwasher guy had had a crush on Emily and never told her. He'd pissed and moaned about his missed chance in such detail that Gray wanted to bitch slap him.

There were two cooks, one a seasoned drunkard who was so good at his job, he could cook in his sleep, but then again the menu wasn't gourmet or anything. He'd slurred when he told Gray that the kid had been competent. He had not elaborated or added anything else. Gray hadn't asked. He was glad the man was reticent, and he didn't know what he might uncover if he scratched the man's surface. The other cook had called Emily a snob because of the way she spoke, carried herself and because she never used the employees' bathroom. "She thought she was better than us!"

Seriously, any more of this and Gray was going to blow up the whole diner with everyone in it. Screw the consequences.

Then June Stills walked in. She was pretty if one liked the pale, fragile look. The only reason Gray, who was so angry he couldn't form full sentences, spoke to her was because she'd worked the most shifts with Emily.

June spoke in a disjointed way, like she was thinking numerous things at the same time and didn't quite know how to organise them. "Emily didn't belong here! No, she was good at her job, very focused almost like she was trying to prove something. Maybe she was. You never know with such people, driven people, always trying to be better than they are! She was sweet and generous … I sure hope she's okay … but it was in a kinda impersonal way, you know. She gave me all her tips, covered for me if I broke a plate or a glass and boy am I clumsy, yet she didn't really share anything about herself. Like I would tell her all my problems, and she'd sympathize but she'd never tell me hers. Sometimes it felt like she was judging me. I think that's why the others didn't really like her. I think they felt inadequate around her. Me? I think she just had trust issues. Or maybe she had nothing going on, so she had nothing to say. It's hard t ..."

Gray sighed. Another dead end. "So she never, not even once talk about herself?"

"You don't understand, outside of taking orders, she barely talked. She was like a Stepford waitress!"

"Great!" Gray huffed.

"If not for that guy she used to talk to after her shift, I'd have thought she had one of those social disorders, you know, like autism or something?"

"She had a boyfriend?"

June laughed, "No, he was old, about fifty. I thought he was her father, but when I asked her, she said her father was dead. Only personal thing she ever said to me. She said he was her uncle. They got along really well ... wish I had an uncle like that. Mine are all dicks!" she added wistfully. "He'd come in at the tail end of our shift and sit in one of the booths and order a beer and a pie and when she got off, she'd buy a pot of coffee and sit with him. They'd talk for hours and she'd be like this totally different person!"

"Is he a patron of the diner?" Gray was excited. He couldn't believe his luck.

There was a slight pause as June considered the question and thought back. "No! In fact, the first day she worked here was the first time I saw him here and now that I think about it, he hasn't been back since she left!" June spoke with slight wonder in her voice, like she hadn't considered this before now. "He wasn't her uncle, was he?" she whispered in a scandalised voice.

Gray resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Why did all the people working in this place have sleazy thoughts? "Did she ever tell you his name?"

"No. But once they were out in the car park as I was leaving and I heard her call him Bobby."

Nathan's eyes widened as Gray realised that the name, at least the first one, had not been fake after all. "Can you describe this man?"

"Umm … middle-aged, white and he wore a cap and had a beard. I wasn't really checking him out, I'm sorry."

"No, you've been of great help." Gray was excited. "When you were in the carpark that time you spoke of, did you see what he was driving?"

"A truck. Don't ask me what model though!" she trilled.

Of course she hadn't noted the plates either. Still, this was more information than he'd had before. He had left the diner in a hurry.

So he had spent the whole week visiting all the Bobby Singers and the Bobby Songs he had found in the phone book. He'd spoken to the last one today. No, he hadn't found his man. Fuck, the man was probably not listed.

Gray had no choice. he would have to brave the bureaucracy of civil offices, for what could only be a lesson in patience. "I will not rip anyone's head off. I will not nail anyone to a desk. I will not explode any computers," he intoned as he left Brandon for Gentryville. As he drove in the dying hours of the night, he cursed his assignment. This kid was proving to be so much trouble. Who the hell was she? And why did his master want her anyway?


	5. Chapter 5

The rays streaming into the room elicited groans and complaints as all three Winchesters tried to burrow under their covers to hide. They were all grouchy and out of sorts: none having slept well. Sam and Emily had both had to contend with horrible nightmares and Dean had suffered with an ache that he thought would have disappeared by morning, but seemed to have gotten worse instead. Also, his siblings' restless shifting in the night had not helped him rest.

It was unprecedented for all three to wake up on the wrong side of their beds. Usually at least one of them woke up in a chirper mood and could coax and tease and sometimes downright bully the others into a good mood. Not today. They dragged themselves through their morning routines and finally into the car. They shuffled into the first diner they saw. Emily had her sweatshirt hood up, in an bid to keep her face in shadow, and was leaning against the window, her eyes at half mast. Sam was unsuccessfully trying to hide behind his hair, his left hand splayed across his face. Dean was slouched so low in the booth, his butt was barely on the seat and his eyes were glazed over. In slow drawl almost bored drawls, they ordered coffee and their breakfasts.

"You three must have had quite the night, huh! Didn't think of the morning when you were out partying did yah!" the waitress brayed as she poured their cups of coffee. Her insufferably loud voice was annoying as it were, but if they'd actually been hangover, they would have killed her for it. Instead Emily and Sam settled for glaring at her, while Dean couldn't be bothered. He had better things to concentrate on. He drank his coffee in two gulps. His siblings, having witnessed this feat so many times, were no longer amazed by it, but the waitress stood there with her mouth open. "I thought it was hot!" she said holding a hand to the side of the pot and pulling it away in amazement since the pot was indeed hot.

Dean grunted and shook his cup, "Can I have more?"

The coffee slightly improved their moods, but it was their meals that finally got them talking.

"This is amazing!" Emily clearly approved of her bacon omelette.

"This too!" Sam waxed lyrical about his veggie omelette.

"Then this makes it a hat trick!" Dean who had ordered a classic breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausages and toast said with a smile.

Silence then reigned as they concentrated on their meals. When they finished, they began to plan the day's itinerary.

"So Rae, we'll drop you at the library and …" Dean began.

Emily rolled her eyes; she knew the drill. Unless the building exploded or some such dire situation, she was not to leave and she had to text both of them every hour with a line from a song one of them chose. They'd be back to pick her up in time for lunch. She didn't like it but she had learnt to pick her battles. She couldn't go with them when they were going to be pretending to be law enforcement of any kind, and hanging in a library beat staying alone in a motel any day.

Today was Dean's turn to pick a song. She raised her eyebrow as she waited and then he chose 'Atomic Punk by Van Halen.' She punched him as he laughed uproariously. Figures he'd chose a song like that!

Chuckling in appreciation, Sam excused himself and left for the bathroom. Dean counted out the money for their bill and turned to check out another waitress, not their crabby one. He turned back just in time to catch Emily sneaking an additional five dollar bill to the money he'd put down to pay for their meal. He raised his eyebrows, and took the banknote.

"Hey!" Emily protested softly. So their waitress had been loud and annoying, and a tad judge-y, but the woman still deserved a tip.

"Look, I know you mean well, but we can't afford things like this, Rae." Dean said gently. He remembered having had the same talk with Sam a long time ago, when Sam had just learnt about the tipping culture. Sam had been eleven and had been upset to learn that their lifestyle made tipping an ill-advised gesture. Dean admitted it made him feel like a douche too, but such was life. At least they never dined and dashed. He waved the note in Emily's face.

She looked up at him, and saw the distress he felt at having to engage in such an ungenerous custom and some of the other practices that came with the hunting life. She knew some things were necessary for their way of life, but that didn't mean they had to like doing those things. But they had to because they had no choice. Take Sam for example, he was averse to hustling pool, but sometimes he did it. She also knew both brothers were not fans of credit card scams, but they acknowledged the necessity. Looking in Dean's eyes, Emily realised she too had to get with the program. She didn't earn for the team, at least not yet, so the best she could do would be not wasting the little money the boys made. She nodded in sudden understanding and took the money.

There was a short nearly awkward silence, then suddenly Dean smiled. "You've been tipping all this time?" It was half an exclamation, half a question. Emily nodded. "Wow, you're one sneaky punk!" he said proudly.

Sam walked up to them in time to catch the words, and shook his head at how dysfunctional the three of them were.

Emily and Dean had just slid out of the booth intending to leave, when a man burst into the diner.

"Someone call 911!" the man huffed. He was wild eyed and panting.

The siblings froze, faced with this unexpected conundrum. They avoided the police as much as they could and from the looks of two other patrons, it seemed they were not the only ones wary of the law. However, they helped people too. Granted they helped those faced with supernatural problems, but wouldn't it be wrong to leave now? The other two wary patrons did not have such qualms and they quickly slipped out of the diner.

The crabby waitress who was closest to the man had him sit down. "What happened sir?" she asked.

Dean signaled the other waitress with a hang on gesture as they waited for the man's explanation. Of course she stopped dialing. Dean had that effect on people.

The man gulped, and spoke in short halting sentences. "I didn't hit him … I swear, I didn't. I stopped before I reached him. But then he … he … he just … uh … he exploded!" The man's eyes were pinpricks. He was evidently going into shock at what he'd seen.

Emily gasped and Sam whispered 'no' in a stricken voice like it was him who had exploded the man. Dean signaled the waitress to continue with the call.

"Get him a glass of water," he instructed as he herded his siblings outside. He knew the police response time in such towns was not the best, so he figured they had a few minutes to check out the scene. He knew it was close by as there was no way the guy could have walked a long distance to the diner on legs as shaky as his headed off to the left and signalled Sam and Emily to head to the right.

* * *

Emily stopped dead in front of the body, if you could even call it that. The man had been completely destroyed. She'd done salt 'n burns with her brothers, so a corpse was not new to her, she'd seen gory and grotesque images in books and on the computer, many of them worse than what lay before her, but the horror of this man's demise was too much for her. She retched a couple of times which gave her enough time to dash to a ditch that run alongside, before she threw up. It was disgusting to say the least; that omelette going down had been awesome but now, not so much, and it did not help matters that some puke went out through her nose, the burning sensation making her eyes tear.

Sam yelled for Dean as he held Emily's braid away from her face and patted her back distractingly. She was glad he was not accompanying his actions with soothing words. This was embarrassing enough as it was. She knew he and Dean would tease her about it when the dust settled.

Dean appeared as she wiped her mouth and straightened up with a groan. Gosh, she smelt, and her nose was congested, and her mouth tasted terrible. That alone nearly made her retch again. Dean spared her a cursory, but concerned glance, "You okay?" he asked already squatting down beside the body, ever the consummate professional.

"I'm ace!" she quipped.

"More like gross!" he teased.

She snorted a laugh. "Don't quit your day job Poetaster!"

Sam smiled as he squatted beside a chortling Dean. Emily stood behind them, acting as the lookout.

"He was on foot, at least according to the guy in the diner, so if there's to be a hex bag, it had to have been on his person." Sam said thoughtfully his eyes going critically over the gore.

"Have you seen this guy?" Dean asked with a snort of incredulous derision subtly shifting his weight to look at Sam and waving his arm sweepingly over the dead man.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yes, I have, Dean. What I meant is that if there had been a hex bag, there would be bits of it in this mess. There isn't."

Yep, Sam was right, there wasn't a hex bag. "Fuck, we're not after a witch then, are we?" Dean was frustrated.

"At least not the kind that uses hex bags." Sam agreed.

"Does this mean your vision changed?" Emily asked without turning. "Because you saw James die in his house! Not out here!"

Sam was quiet for a moment, his forehead furrowed in concentration, his eyes roving over the remains. "No, I don't think it changed. This isn't James!" he suddenly realised.

"What?" Dean and Emily exclaimed.

"James has blond hair!" he explained.

Emily steeled herself and turned around to look. With a detached clinical glance, she saw what Sam had seen. There were tufts of brown hair in the gore.

"Good eye, Sammy!" Dean complimented as he got up with a suppressed groan. God, he ached. "Okay then, let's go check on James."

"And him?" Emily asked.

"The cops are on the way, there's nothing we can do for him." Sam said. His heart burdened by those words, truthful as they were.

"Yeah, they're going to have to scrape and hose him away!" Dean added. His flippant comment hiding the torment he felt at not having saved the man whose name they didn't even know. "God, Rae! You stink! I think we need to swing by the motel first!" he added.

Back at the motel, Emily dashed into the bathroom.

"Make the water as hot as you can stand it!" Dean advised. "The steam will help unclog your nose."

"Figures you'd know that!" Emily yelled back.

"You know why I do? Because Sam is a lightweight when it comes to alcohol!" he shoot back.

Sam threw a pillow at him.

Emily blew her nose and rinsed her mouth out at the sink before gargling liberal amounts of mouthwash, brushing her teeth and gargling more mouthwash and rinsing again. Then she got into the shower, shampooed her hair and soaped up liberally but quickly.

"So college boy, any ideas about what we're dealing with?" Dean asked.

"No."

Dean sighed, leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. Sam watched his brother. He noticed Dean's lips were a little drawn but he didn't say anything. He knew how easily Dean got testy when someone asked if he was okay.

* * *

Ten minutes later, they were heading to Traction Street.

The ambulance that sped past them left them some hope but the unmarked van that rolled sedately out of 2929's driveway tore all hope away. They knew the significance of that van; they knew they were too late.

"No!" Sam and Emily exclaimed. Their voices were thick. The pain, and the guilt easily evident.

Dean said nothing but on the inside he was raging. "When would this end?" It was bad enough that Sam had to experience these stupid visions, but it sucked that now he couldn't even stop them from coming true. What was the point then? Why fuck with him this way? With them all? Why add to their burden of guilt? And people wondered why he didn't believe in God. Well, what kind of God would do this? If the person, or thing or god responsible for these dreams ever stood in front of Dean, he would rip it to pieces.

Glancing in the rear view mirror, he saw Emily wipe away silent tears. She had met James in person so he knew this would hit her hard. He tore his eyes away and pretended not to have noticed, giving her a semblance of privacy. From the corner of his eye, he could see Sam swallow convulsively, trying to get his emotions under control. Dean pretended not to have seen that too. No one could ever accuse his siblings of lacking empathy. It made him sad and proud at the same time.

He shook his head, as if that might clear it. Then with a sigh, a familiar look of resignation replaced the pain on his face. His siblings were counting on him. He had to be strong because they drew strength from him. Besides, they had a job to do. He knew Sam and Emily would be fine. They were good at tamping down on their emotions and building walls; they weren't as good as he was, and he hoped they never got to be, but they were sufficient enough that they didn't get paralyzed by emotion at the most inopportune time!

He started the car and drove away. By the time they reached the library, they had composed themselves. They were hunters again. Yes, Dean was proud of his siblings.

"Right, see you later, Pukey!" Dean called out as Emily stepped out of the car.

Wow, her time of grace had not lasted at all! She stuck her tongue out at him. She couldn't think of anything to say. Both brothers laughed at her gesture and inability to come up with a parting retort.

They waited until she disappeared into the building before driving away. They knew she would be fine, she was armed; she had both a gun and a knife on her, and a plastic bottle with holy water and salt. Besides, chances of anything going down in the library were very low. Still, they couldn't help but worry every time they had to leave her alone somewhere.

* * *

It was still an open police investigation, so the remains had to have been taken to a police morgue. Great!

Dean parked the impala across from the police station. He went through the identity box and retrieved the necessary identities for him and Sam. Glancing at his brother, he grinned. "Ready?"

Sam's answer was a sigh and a straightening of his shoulders. One day they were going to walk into one of these places and not walk out again. He hoped today was not the day.

They strode into the station with that self important presence that federal agents seemed to perfect.

Dean flipped his badge quickly in the face of the first cop they saw. "I'm Agent Waits, this is Agent Petty. We need to speak to your chief!"

The chief looked like a depressed Santa Claus. He groaned audibly when he saw them. "How can I help you gentlemen?"

"We're here about the explosion victims." Sam answered curtly.

"Why is this on the FBI radar anyhow?" he asked disinterestedly; just making small talk.

"Anything that goes boom these days automatically gets on the FBI radar. We live in the age of terrorism!" Dean said easily.

"Yeah, figured as much. You'll have to go down and speak to our medical examiner. He probably knows more than I do at this point." He had a junior officer lead them to the morgue.

The examiner couldn't have been more than thirty. A nondescript man who'd probably fade in any setting but here.

"Bet you guys are here about the two guys who exploded this morning!" he said with undisguised glee.

"Have you figured out what happened?" Dean asked quickly. No need to ask the guy's name. Arrogance was a big part of their disguise.

"Well, the only explanation I can come up with is that somehow these guys swallowed bombs of some kind!"

"Did you find something to support this conclusion?" Dean asked sternly.

"No, but what other explanation is there? That they spontaneously exploded?" the man even chuckled. "I know that's what the witnesses are saying, but it's impossible. See the human skin and the circulatory system would never let such a thing happen. I think your witnesses are having a little break from reality."

"Is there anything else you can tell us about the cases?" Sam asked in a no nonsense voice.

"About the cases? No! There's something else that might be completely unrelated, but still, you never know! Today has just been all round weird." he whispered as if he wanted to tell them a juicy secret.

"Really? Why?" Sam asked, nothing in his hard voice reflecting the curiosity he was feeling.

"Well, in addition to the exploding guys, another guy was brought in about ten minutes ago. Apparently, he dropped dead in the middle of an office meeting. But get this, he died from complications arising from hypothermia!" the man was now hanging at the very edge of his seat and was practically vibrating in excitement.

Now thoroughly irritated by the man's extremely animated disclosure, Sam and Dean without consulting each other, looked at him with raised eyebrows and bored looks on their faces. It was discomfiting to be on the receiving end of those looks and the man blathered on though less enthusiastically. "Hypothermia! Come on guys, we're having a really warm spring this year and a guy dies of hypothermia! It's weird!" he tried to explain, to get them to react.

"Okay, if you say so." Dean said coldly. "What was the guy's name?"

"Umm …" he span away and hit a few keys on a computer. "Alex Jukić," he said quietly. "Underwriter for Edge Insurance."

"Great! And have you managed to ascertain the identity of the second exploding victim? The chief said you'd know by now?"

The man consulted the computer again. "I had to use the plate and screws in his leg to identify him," he muttered to himself as he hit a couple of keys. "Yeah, his name was Cooper Bates."

"Mmmm, now that is weird!" Dean said gravelly.

The man's forehead furrowed as he tried to think about why of all the things he had said, that was the one the agents found weird.

Without another word, Sam and Dean turned and left the room, both struggling not to crack up. They held it together until they got into their car and had driven a block away. The laughter was also in part due to the relief they felt at having made it out of the police station.

"So, do you think the Cooper name coming up on both victims is just coincidence?" Sam asked.

"Hard to tell, but it was one guy's last name and another's first, so it could be significant or it might be a coincidence. I think the most important thing we need to do is figure out whether hypothermia guy is connected to the two Coopers."

They were surprised but elated when they found a public phone booth that a yellow pages book in it. Both Alex Jukić and Edge Insurance were listed. Sam wrote down both addresses.

"You take the home, I'll take the company." Dean said.

Sam's jaw dropped. "What?"

"What do you mean what? I'll drop you at the Jukić house, you're better with grieving widows or mothers or whatever family this guy has. Then I'll head to Edge, because I can handle corporate assholes!"

"Okay." Sam said suspiciously. There was really no reason why the two of them couldn't go visit the home and then go to the company together. However, he held his tongue. Dean had used his don't-dare-ask-me-anything-that-will-make-me-kick- your-ass voice. There was no reasoning with him when he got this way. Sam wondered what was wrong with Dean. He knew Dean only got this way when he felt he was losing control over himself, and so he compensated by trying to control everyone and everything.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: It's been a long time coming, but there are reasons, I swear! First my computer got soaked with a cup of tea with enough sugar in it to rot all of a shark's teeth. Then three days later, as I was finally recovering from the shock that I went into, I burnt my fingers. Now I've heard bad luck happens in threes, so as I nursed my fingers to basic usability levels, I waited for the other shoe to drop! I'm still waiting … it still hasn't, I hope it won't. **

**To those who are following the story, thanks. Those who've reviewed (Mayrem, you deserve a special mention here), you're awesome. Okay, onwards and … **

* * *

Marie Jukić was beautiful. Sam couldn't help but think how much Dean would have enjoyed interviewing the woman. She and Alex had been married five years and had a three year old daughter, Natalia, a cute little thing that looked like her mother. Sam learnt that Alex was a hard worker, and a good husband and father.

"So did you notice anything off about him?"

"Well, he started complaining about being cold about a week ago. I thought he might be coming down with a fever but the doctor found nothing wrong with him. Then he began wearing a thermal shirt and a sweater everywhere, then a scarf too and finally his wool overcoat. Natalia thought it was the height of hilarity for daddy to wear winter things in spring. I did too until he started cranking up the heat. It was unbearable to say the least."

"Was he cold? To the touch I mean?"

"No. He was fine. His temperature was normal. He was … I … I don't understand how this could have happened!" Marie broke down in heart wrenching tears.

Sam comforted the woman as best as he could, her tears tearing out his heart. When he finally left the house, he turned to his left and walked. He had no destination in mind, he just needed to be away from that misery; he needed to clear his head.

Then he got a text. "I'm a victim of the science age, uh!" Emily had written. For a minute he floundered wondering what the hell, then he remembered she had to send a lyrics line to him and Dean every hour.

He laughed long and heartily, ignoring the looks he was getting from those he walked past. No wonder Emily had punched Dean for choosing the song he had. God, his siblings were jokers. They always found a way to keep the blues away. He hoped that never changed.

With a lighter heart, he had a destination now. The library. Emily.

* * *

Dean found that Alex had been well liked by his colleagues. He was kind and witty and not aggressively ambitious. At first, everyone had thought he was being funny when he started complaining about being cold. In fact, one of his female workmates had bought him a hot water bottle as a joke. When he started turning up the heat in the office and they had to constantly put it back down, they decided the joke was no longer amusing. His death had thrown them for a loop. None could believe that the man was dead, and that he had died of hypothermia in April in South Carolina.

Dean was talking to a Belinda when Emily's text came in. "I can't remember when I was your age!"

He barked a laugh then composed himself. Oh, that smart little punk! She'd turned the joke on him by skipping to the third line!

Well, he decided he had learnt all there was to know in this soul sucking building, so after he'd spoken to Belinda who basically said the same thing about Alex that everyone else had, he excused himself and left.

He called Sam when he got to the car, "Hope you're almost done. I should be there in about twenty or so minutes."

"Just drive to the library. I'm about to get there myself."

"What? How?" Dean was disbelieving.

"I walked!" Sam said incredulously, like Dean had asked a dumb question. Which he kind of had.

"You walked? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Yes, I walked! What's the big deal? You didn't expect me to wait outside the house for you to pick me up like a freaking two year old, did you? Cos that would have gone down well with Mrs. Jukić!"

"It's fucking dangerous!"

"Dean, I'm not a moron you know, I know to look both sides before I cross the street!" Sam couldn't help snarking.

"Damn it all! You can get snatched off the street!"

"I'm 6'4, Dean! No one in their right mind would snatch me in broad day light!" Sam laughed.

"Well, the things we hunt are fucking nuts! And if anyone's going to be taken by anything, frankly, it's most likely to be you. You attract the crazies like a fucking fly!"

"Relax! I'm like a metre from the library. I'll be fine, Dean."

"Bloody hell!"

"Oh for heaven's sake, stop cussing at me!"

Dean actually stopped and snorted a laugh at that. "Do you know who you sound like right now?" he asked, his inherent need to tease Sam distracting him easily from his tirade.

With a huff Sam hang up on him and pocketed the phone, ignoring it when it rang almost immediately. A few minutes later he entered the library. He knew where he'd find Emily. In the back in the dusty archives that would probably be gone in a few years. The world was rapidly becoming paper free.

He entered quietly. He wasn't testing her skills, quiet approach was just the default mode for them all, but he was still proud to see she how alert she was. She noticed his presence immediately and her change in posture was so fluid and yet so casual, no one but a hunter would have known she had moved into a defensive stance. From that position she could easily hit the floor using the desk as a shield and use her momentum to kick the chair using it as a momentary weapon while she whipped out her gun.

When she noticed it was him, her eyes lit up but before relaxing, she still whispered Christo like she had been taught. It was one of John's many rules. They had to do it for strangers as well as acquaintances. And by all means, for kin too. He had argued that yes, they were family, but once they'd been out of each other's immediate company for a substantial period of time, they had to make sure they were still themselves. Sam admitted he rarely did this and he knew Dean was just as forgetful. It was good to know Emily was still following that rule. Well, at least for now. He knew time would change that. It was like the way new drivers observed safe distance between them and the driver in front of them, while experienced drivers were more likely to tailgate. Everyone lowered their guard over time. If you broke a rule once and suffered no consequences, you were likely to break it again. Besides, it got old quick having strangers look at you like you were some religious nut because you were constantly whispering Christo.

"Hey!" Emily greeted. He could hear the grin in her voice.

"Hi Princess Paranoid!" he greeted back. "What's with the bandana of paranoia?" he asked referencing the bandana she had tied over her mouth and nose.

She pulled it off and looked behind him. "Dean not with you?"

"No. We split up."

She raised an eyebrow at that. It was as strange to her as it had been to him. "He's getting sick, isn't he? Well, that's why I was wearing this. I don't want to get sick from this dust and have you handling two sick siblings!"

"So you've noticed too, uh?" Sam said quietly.

"Hard not to. So, are you going to confront him?"

"No, not yet. You know how he gets."

Emily nodded grimly. Her brothers were experts of each other and she respected Sam's judgement and decisions about Dean and Dean's about Sam. "So what did you find?" she asked instead. Dean was not forgotten, just relegated behind the hunt; the way he would want.

It amazed Sam that Emily could fight them about anything and everything, except how they handled each other. "Well, the previously unknown guy is Cooper Bates."

"Oh! Coincidence?"

"Perhaps! There might be another victim though." He proceeded to tell her about Alex Jukić's strange death and what he'd learnt from the man's wife.

"So two complained of heat and one complained of cold before they all died, on the same day? Mmmm, definitely more than coincidence. Maybe the victims are somehow related to each other?"

"It's probable. What about you? What did you find out?"

"Right, I have been researching the town. There's nothing suspicious in it's history. It wasn't raised on hallowed or sacred ground, there have been no mass killings or suicides. No recent strange deaths, well, except the current three that is. I've also looked into the Cooper's past. There's nothing weird there. Rose and James moved here from Albuquerque, a year after her divorce from her husband. James was four. The husband still lives in Albuquerque, he remarried and has two other kids. I haven't found any public dirt on either Rose or James, so if there are any skeletons, they kept them very well hidden."

"Maybe we should lean on Rose a little, see if she reveals anything."

"That won't be possible. She had a heart attack, hasn't regained consciousness."

"Oh!" Sam said somberly. That explained the ambulance that had raced past them before they'd seen the van. They hadn't even given it a second thought.

"I know. It's terrible." Emily sighed, her eyes glazed over as she remembered the woman and man she had met just last evening.

After a silence in which both had been lost in their thoughts, Sam spoke. "We'll need to check into Bates and Jukić too."

"Yeah." Emily said with a soft sigh. Then both stiffened, acutely aware of the newcomer without having to look up.

"Time to break up this geek party!" Dean greeted them with a grin.

Both relaxed and glared at him good-naturedly, Emily remembering to say Christo under her breath.

"You!" Dean growled and pointed mock threateningly at her, "You skipped a line!" he accused.

"Well, I figured it was best to just send the most accurate line!" she laughed at him.

"I'm older than you!" Dean protested.

"That's really debatable! I mean your favourite joke is what kind of bees make milk!"

"Boobies!" he hurriedly snickered the answer before she could finish saying it. "How is that not funny?" he shook his head in wonder at his sibling.

"What did the lyrics say?" Sam asked, trying to hold in a smile at Dean's juvenility.

"You don't know the song, do you?" Dean asked. Sam shook his head. "Good!" Dean replied having resolved not to illuminate his brother.

Emily however had no qualms telling. "It says, I can't remember when I was your age!" She smiled.

Sam thought about it for a split second then exploded with laughter. "Oh, you set yourself up for that one!" he wheezed at Dean and high-fived Emily.

"Yeah? Well, you sounded like Missouri!" Dean pouted at Sam, remembering the don't cuss at me line.

"Meh, I don't even care!" Sam refused to get ruffled by Dean's teasing.

"You know what? You losers are buying your own lunches!" Dean turned and walked away, but a smile was tugging at his lips. When his siblings were happy, he was happy. They followed him, Sam still laughing like a loon at his expense and Emily theatrically begging him to please not let them starve. The librarian glared at them as they walked out.

During the meal, Emily and Sam repeated their findings for Dean, and he told them his.

"So we have a dead do-gooder!" Dean snarked.

"Yep. Went to work, had drinks with his mates after and then came straight home." Sam agreed.

"Hang on! What? His workmates said he stopped joining them for drinks about two months ago!" Dean interjected. "Said he went home immediately!"

"Oooh scandal! Are you happy now?" Emily exclaimed.

"Two hours unaccounted for, for two months?" Sam mused.

"What was he doing?" Dean wondered.

"Maybe he was having an affair!" Emily suggested.

"And the wife found out and killed him with some witchy power! See? This is why I'm never marrying. Chicks are crazy. She could just have left him!"

"Chicks are no more crazier than blokes, Dean!" Emily objected, sticking up for her gender.

"Who says blokes? Are you English?" Dean snorted.

"Who says chicks? Are you twelve? Besides, the wife might not be the perpetrator, you know!"

"Perpetrator? Between you and Sammy, I think I'm attending college against my will!"

Emily rolled her eyes at him and opened her mouth to snark back, but Sam beat her to the punch.

"Children, children, focus!" he admonished.

They both glared at him and he couldn't help the grin that broke out on his face. Oh, it was so easy to bait them!

"Look, we don't know whether he had an affair or not. And even if he did, we don't know whether Marie found out about it or not. And even if she did, we don't know whether she killed him or not. And even if she did, we don't know how this connects to the other two victims, if at all!" he continued.

"In other words, we don't know shit!" Dean said.

"Exactly!" Sam agreed.

All three sighed.

"Right!" Dean said, then didn't follow that with anything for a while. Finally, Sam silently prompted him with a raised eyebrow! "Yeah, we need to know more about Jukić and Bates."

Emily sighed knowing this was leading to another session in the library.

"So you two are going to return to the library, and see what you can dig up."

Yippe! She wasn't going to be alone. Sam was coming with! He made for a good study partner too, unlike Dean who was easily bored and distracted.

"What about you? What are you going to do?" Sam asked. He could see Emily was just as eager to know even though she pretended otherwise.

"The car is overdue for a tune up." Dean explained. "I'll check her over, gas her up and I'll return and eat dust mites with you two, so don't worry your pretty geeky heads. When it gets dark, we'll go check out the Cooper house again, just in case we missed something the first time round. Bates' too if you find an address."

That seemed like a reasonable answer and neither Sam nor Emily could begrudge him his freedom. Besides, he didn't do too well in libraries.

He dropped them in front of the library and peeled away.

By the time he returned, they had gathered enough information that he didn't need to do any research himself. Hallelujah! The most amazing thing they'd learnt was that Cooper Bates' middle name was James. They didn't know how relevant that information was, but it tied the original two victims together even more.

Emily handed Dean her notebook and his eyebrows nearly disappeared off his face. She'd split the page into three equal columns, each column titled with a victim's name, and followed by bulleted notes about them. Her handwriting was impeccable.

"And I thought Sam was OCD!" Dean muttered looking at the page.

Both his siblings glared at him.

"You know I notice patterns quicker if things are organised!" Emily defended herself self-consciously.

"Hey, I wasn't complaining," Dean said bumping her shoulder. He realised he might have hurt her feelings slightly. He also admitted to himself that her methodical arrangement made it easier to scan the relevant information without having to go back and forth between different media. From her summary, it was easy to tell that all three men had nothing in common. James Cooper was a twenty-one year old student, still living at home with his mother, Alex Jukić was a thirty-six year old married underwriter and Cooper James Bates was a fifty year old sociologist who run his own consulting firm. Though a sociologist, the man perversely lived alone, had never married and was a regular scrooge. The three men shared no hobbies, didn't hang in the same places, didn't have common friends or even service providers, heck the first time the men seemed to have been in the same place was at the morgue!

Though it was obvious that all three men had been killed by the same entity, it was possible they had all been randomly selected. However, the Winchesters had a feeling the men were somehow connected, no matter how arbitrarily, and one thing Winchesters didn't ignore was their intuition, or their instinct, if you asked Dean because apparently, intuition was for girls! So they had to keep looking for what linked the men.

Before she'd headed to the archive area, Emily had browsed through the mythology aisle and a couple of books had caught her eye. She wanted to borrow them for further research, but since the three of them had no library cards, they had to stash the books in their jackets and Emily's satchel and smuggle them out. With the number of laws they broke, taking a couple of books no one read as evidenced by the dust on the spines, was a breeze.

With time to kill before it got dark, they returned to their motel room where Sam and Emily quickly got lost in the pages of the stolen books. Neither felt guilty about ignoring Dean because when they'd gotten to the motel, he'd had a quick shower and had then fallen onto his bed and slept. His phone alarm went off at half past midnight and he hassled them out of the room.

They sneaked into Cooper Bates' house just before 1 a.m, split up to search, found nothing out of the ordinary and left in twenty minutes flat. At the Cooper's house, they found nothing, which was not unexpected. Emily had a hard time being in the house because she kept remembering James and Rose. It was hard to believe she'd been talking to them just last evening and now, one was dead and the other was critical.

In the car, on the way back to the motel, they discussed their next move. Dean elected to visit the college. Sam and Emily were sure that was because of the hot college girls he envisioned he'd find there. In truth, it was because Dean didn't feel like talking to a bunch of boring, stuck up, pretentious know it all people, that he thought sociologists were. Sam would have to take them on. There was a long argument about which brother Emily was going to accompany. Dean wanted her with Sam, while she and Sam didn't want the three of them to split up, but thought if it was necessary, then it was best she go with Dean. In the end, the two of them won.

Back in the motel, Dean got into bed immediately. Emily, then Sam had their showers before getting into their own beds.


	7. Chapter 7

"Here!" Dean fluidly threw the car keys at Sam as they exited the room the next morning. Sam caught them with a quizzical look. "You have to drop me and Rae off at the college, remember?" Dean explained impatiently.

"But we're going for breakfast first, right?" Sam asked.

"Maybe you are, but the two of us might have an early morning class!"

Sam's jaw dropped to the ground.

"I didn't know we were attending the classes! Besides, I'm hungry!" Emily objected with a bit of a whine.

"We'll buy sandwiches at the college or something. Come on. Let's haul ass people!"

"Jeez, it's okay to miss a class. Or two … hundred!" Emily muttered as she got into the car.

Sam laughed. He never thought he'd see the day Dean was eager to go to an institution of learning while Emily was dragging her feet about the same thing!

They had to drive out of Greenville to Clemson. The journey was done with loudly grumbling stomachs and soft music. Sam dropped his siblings at the college, waving cheekily as he drove away.

"Okay, let's go see the dean. You're taking the lead on this one." Dean announced.

"I am?" the shock in Emily's voice was evident.

"Yeah. You probably won't get to play cop again for a while after this."

"I know." Emily said with no dramatics. She knew that this was a one off situation; the only time she might be able to believably act the cop role until she was older.

"Most detectives are hard as nails, but just so you know, female detectives tend to be extra tough because they have to work twice as hard as their male counterparts to be taken seriously and to get anywhere. It's not fair, but thus is life. Anyway, insecure, chauvinistic bastards who don't know what to do with strong women tend to call them bitchy instead of sassy. So I want you to dig deep and find your inner bitch, okay?"

Emily wasn't surprised at Dean's perceptiveness. She smiled sweetly at him. "I'm going to be the best grade A bitch you've ever seen."

"That's my girl!" Dean cheered.

Emily straightened her shoulders and strode ahead of him. She even managed to add a slight cocky roll to her shoulders. With an impressed, fond smile, Dean followed her.

The secretary was on the phone giggling. Surely it was too early for someone at work to be giggling! Emily thought. She flipped her ID long enough to get the woman's attention, then pocketed it. It was Sam's ID. The name inside was Charlie Richards, which could easily be short for Charlotte or Charlene, but the picture was undeniably of Sam though it was taken when he'd been in a rebellious phase of wearing his hair long. Definitely before college. She'd briefly wondered what John had thought of that phase.

The woman quickly hang up the phone. "Sorry about that. How may I help you sirs, ma'am … um, officers?" she said, obviously flustered.

"I'm Detective Richards, this is Detective Watts. We need to speak to the dean." Emily greeted the woman with a hard no nonsense voice.

"Mrs. Johnson isn't in, but the assistant dean is. Have a seat. I'll let him know."

Emily crossed her hands in front of her chest, and shifted slightly to rest her weight more on her left foot, clearly indicating she had no intentions of sitting, or being trifled with by time wasters. Beside her, Dean affected a similar pose and glowered menacingly. The woman scurried away from her desk.

When they were alone, Dean winked at Emily. She bit her lip to keep from laughing. The woman returned with a man in tow.

"This way detectives," he said, deferentially leading them to a door right beside the secretary's desk. If this was his office, they could only imagine where he'd been. They sat in the indicated chairs. As expected, he looked to Dean, addressing his question to him. "So what can I do for you detectives?"

Emily answered. "We're working on the Cooper case and we're looking into the possibility that James ingested a dangerous drug that he might have purchased on the college grounds. So, me and Watts here, we're going to pose as college students for a day or two and see what we can find out."

"Oh!" the man said, clearly taken back by the fact that Emily seemed to be in charge and not Dean.

"Do you have a problem with that?" Emily intentionally misread the man's reaction.

"No. Of course I don't have a problem with that!" he spluttered.

"So what do you have a problem with?"

"No, nothing! Well, it's just that I was thrown for a second. You look too young to be a detective!"

Thankfully, this had been one of Dean's arguments when he'd wanted Emily to go with Sam, so she already had an answer, albeit a more snarky one than the one she'd given Dean.

With eyes and a voice as hard as flint, she spoke. "Look, this is an investigation at a college. Who do you think they're going to send? Detectives who can pass for college students? Or some creepy uncle types who don't know a blog from a bong! God, I thought educators were supposed to be intelligent!"

The man looked chastened and a tad embarrassed. Dean had to squelch a laugh.

"So what do you want?"

"First, we need to know what classes James Cooper was taking and his schedule. Also, it's imperative you don't leak a word of this to anyone, though you can debrief your secretary who obviously has seen us, otherwise you'll be arrested for impeding a police invesigation."

"Well, the lecturers will want to know why they have new students in their classes."

"Tell them we're education supervisors or something. I don't care, just don't blow our cover!"

The man typed quickly into his computer, then stood up. Emily raised a questioning eyebrow. Sometimes, words weren't necessary to convey a message, because the man evidently understood the meaning of the raised eyebrow. "I've sent the document to the printer, I'm going to pick it." he explained hastily.

Emily almost giggled. She lowered the eyebrow, and nodded and the man scurried out of the room.

"Too much?" she whispered to Dean.

"No. Perfect!" he grinned. She snickered back.

The door opened, their faces cleared of emotion. The dean handed her a paper. She scanned it quickly, handled it dismissively to Dean and stood up. "Thank you. We'll let you know if we need anything." Dean stood up and they left the office.

"I think having two new students in all the classes this James kid went to would be weird. So I'll take some and you take the others." Dean glanced at his watch. "His first class is starting in ten minutes. I'll take it. Go look for breakfast."

Emily knew what he was saying had merit, two new students walking into a class this far into the semester would be strange to say the least, but she was still suspicious that he was offering to attend a class. Usually, he would be throwing her under the bus. "Okay," she said though it ended up sounding like a question, betraying her reservations.

"I'll find you after." Dean answered, choosing to ignore her uneasy answer.

Emily gave him a notebook from her satchel grinning at the look of dread that crossed his face when he realised he was really going to sit in a class. Now that was the expected Dean reaction. They separated.

* * *

The class was dead boring and non-interactive of course, which worked just fine for him because he could concentrate his attention on something else. A pretty, curvy bespectacled black girl and a slim, dark haired boy accosted him after the class.

"I didn't know Langley was taking new people in his class!" the boy growled.

"I've been wanting to get into his class for ages, but it was full. Then a spot opened up." Dean shrugged carelessly. Even feeling as crappy as he was, he was confident he could take these two if they started something.

"Oh! Did he tell you how that slot opened up?" the girl spoke accusingly.

"No. But obviously I figured it out. James Cooper was in this class wasn't he?" Dean imagined the boy's death had been announced and it would look weird if he didn't know this since he was pretending he'd been at the college all this time, but attending different classes. "Did you know him?"

"He was our friend!"

No wonder they were so upset about Dean being in his spot.

"I'm sorry."

His words hang in the air until the girl conceded, "It's not your fault!"

"It was that bastard's fault!" the boy spat.

Well, hello clue! Dean thought with elation that didn't register on his face.

"You don't know that Simon!" the girl said in a high pitched panicky voice.

"What bastard?" Dean asked mildly, not giving away the excitement he felt. He might have hit pay dirt with barely any digging!

"No one!" the girl answered quickly.

Simon glowered at the girl before turning almost defiantly to Dean. "He was seeing this guy!"

Truthfully, Dean hadn't seen that coming, but his face gave nothing away. "Do you know who?" he asked.

Simon deflated.

"He never told us. All we know is that the guy was married but he promised he was going to leave his wife." The girl had decided that now that Simon had spoken, there was no harm in telling more.

"The bastard never did!" Simon interrupted. The venom in his voice made Dean pause. He'd speak like this if someone ever hurt or even threatened Emily or Sam. Whatever kind of relationship Simon had had with James, it hadn't just been friendship.

"Yeah, however he was, he led James on," the girl said softly. "I'm Tina by the way," she added softly.

In the time they'd been talking, they'd unwittingly made their way to the cafeteria, guided discreetly by Dean. He didn't have to scan the room to find Emily. He knew which table she'd have chosen and spotted her almost immediately. She was reading something on her laptop's screen, a small frown of concentration marring her forehead. He knew she was aware of his approach, but intentionally kept her head down because he had company and she needed to know how he was going to play this out.

"Hi honey!" he greeted when he was a ways off and she looked up and beamed at him. He quickened his steps so he could reach her side before Simon and Tina. He kissed her on the cheek, then nuzzled close and whispered quickly, "Watch them closely, tell me what you think and please don't be nice to them, I need them to leave real fast!"

He turned to the other two who had reached them, "Tina, Simon, this is Charlie, my girlfriend. Char, this is Tina and Simon!"

Emily reached out a hand and smiled widely at the other two. "Nice to meet you. Thanks for watching out for Keith. He was worried it would look strange for him to take a dead kid's place."

"James was our friend just so you know!" Simon growled.

"Oh, I'm sorry for your loss." Emily said. Her tone completely insincere and rather unfeeling.

She waited until Simon and Tina had accepted her terrible apology and sat down at the table with her and Dean, before she added. "I'm sure glad Keith managed to get into that class. He's been just dying to get in, for ages. Was your friend a druggie or sick?"

The two spluttered in indignation and only Dean's coaxing and heartfelt apology for Emily's behaviour kept them at the table.

The four of them talked for a while but with Emily's subtle snideness and general apathy, the conversation quickly became stilted and awkward and Simon and Tina excused themselves as soon as they politely could.

Before leaving, Simon pulled Dean aside to whisper feelingly, "Your girlfriend is very beautiful, but no offense, it's only on the outside!"

Dean sighed in relief when the two disappeared.

"That was the hardest thing I've ever had to do!" Emily breathed. It had been easy and fun to burst the assistant dean's balls, as all she'd needed to do was be cocky and snarky, but she'd been uncomfortable being offhandedly mean and completely discourteous to Simon and Tina. Emily had had to channel Betty Martin, a woman who'd hounded her parents during her childhood, a woman she'd disliked.

"I can imagine." Dean said. He knew how naturally compassionate Emily was, and for her to pretend otherwise had to have been hell. "But you did what you had to and you did good!" he added gently.

She sighed unhappily.

"So what did you think of them?" Dean asked, trying to get his sister's mind off her tactics.

"They seemed cool, and I believe Tina like likes Simon." Emily said. Dean was about to ask if that was all she'd noticed, when she suddenly grinned and her eyes twinkled with mischief. "And guess what? I think Simon had the hots for you! You should have seen the look he gave me when you introduced me as your girlfriend!"

"I thought so too!" Dean agreed readily. He'd introduced Emily that way to make sure.

Emily was surprised that he'd known this and not run for the hills. She said as much to him.

"Well, I'm so hot, even dudes like me!" Dean waggled his eyebrows and grinned cockily. Emily rolled her eyes at him. "But truthfully, if he had come onto me, I would have run!" he admitted after a beat.

Emily nearly burst a vein laughing.

"So guess who else he was crushing on." Dean asked after Emily had wiped away her tears of mirth and quietened down.

"Who? Wait, don't tell me … James!" she said excitedly.

"Yep! But unfortunately, James had a secret boyfriend." Dean paused for effect before adding, "A married secret boyfriend!" He said it with a significant inflection in his voice that was an immediate clue to Emily.

"And you think this secret boyfriend was Alex Jukić!"

"Yes!" Dean exclaimed. That she'd reached the same conclusion with the scant information meant either he was not nuts, or she was as nuts as he was. Either was fine with him.

"So Tina likes Simon who likes James who likes Alex!" Emily mused in summary.

"We think!" Dean said cautiously, remembering Sam's lecture about randomly reaching conclusions.

"Okay, so we think!" Emily conceded. "That still gives us three people with motive."

"Actually, I think it's just two," Dean disagreed.

"Three. Tina, Simon, and Marie!"

"No, two. Think about it. There was no reason for Simon to kill James. He liked him. So he'd only get rid of Alex."

"Well, using the same argument, I could say Marie couldn't have killed Alex!"

"Yeah, but you're assuming she loved him. And you're forgetting that woman scorned thing."

"Or insurance money, jeez Dean, women can have complex motives too!" Emily rolled her eyes. Sometimes her brother was an idiot. "Anyway, so we've possibly got two suspects, and a motive to explain two of the deaths. What about Bates?"

"I don't know!' Dean said, scrubbing a hand in his face. He deflated visibly. "But I don't think we're going to find anything else here. Unless you want to attend that microeconomics lecture!"

"It's macroeconomics, and no thanks!" Emily replied. She agreed with him. It was highly unlikely they'd find anything else here. They'd been so damn lucky to catch this break in the first place. She suddenly noticed how tired he looked. Was she imagining things or had he lost a small amount of weight? This brought to mind the fact that he hadn't had breakfast.

"You wanna grab something to eat while we wait for Sam?" she asked offhandedly. She knew if she infused that sentence with the concern she was feeling, he would take offense.

"It's kinda late. I'll just wait for lunchtime," he said as he reached into his pocket for his phone.

* * *

Sam's fishing had not been as successful as his sibling' quest. He'd been amazed by how little Cooper Bates' employees cared for him. No one liked the man, but even more surprisingly, no one disliked the man! Despite being their boss, he'd existed on the very periphery of their lives. They didn't know anything about him, and weren't even curious. Absolutely no one in that office felt strongly about the man to want him dead. He'd left everything he owned to a brother he had not talked to in three years. This information had made Sam sadder than everything else. He was just starting the car when Dean's call came through. "I'm heading out now," he answered his brother's question gently, understanding Dean's hard tone was hiding concern.

Now that Emily didn't have to attend a class, she decided to head to the library. Knowledge was power after all. When she told Dean he groaned, called her geekier than Sam if that were possible, and pointed out he'd already taken one for the team by sitting in the world's most boring class and so he had earned the right to be spared the dullness of a school library. Emily laughed, fondly called him an ignoramus, grabbed her satchel and kissed him on the cheek just in case Simon was lurking nearby, then she left with a chirpy see you later.

The minute she disappeared, Dean swallowed three Tylenol pills dry. He didn't think it was wise to take them so soon after the last ones he'd taken, but right now, he didn't care.

In the library, Emily gravitated as usual to the mythology section. In this college it was right next to the religious section. Whoever had arranged the library was brilliant, she mused. She checked contents pages looking for any books that contained substantial text on curses and spells, found two and sat down to read. Sam called fifty minutes later. Without any thought or misgivings, Emily put both books in her bag. As she exited the library, she thought how different her life had turned out to be. She'd never thought she'd be stealing books from libraries! Twice in two days!

During lunch, Dean prompted her to fill Sam in on what they'd learnt and what conclusions they'd drawn. Sam had the same concern about Cooper Bates.

"Maybe he was just collateral damage?" Emily suggested shyly. She'd been thinking it for a while now, but hadn't wanted to voice it. It happened sometimes. In the supernatural world, just like in ordinary life, many things happened without reason.

Sam too thought about it and realised that it was a probability. Just because there was motive for two deaths didn't mean there had to be motive for the third. Even in death, Bates was a fifth wheel! Sam felt even sadder for the man.

"But what about me? Am I collateral too?" Dean wanted to ask. He wanted to rail against something, anything, but he didn't. He'd just freak this siblings out.

"Dean?" Sam prompted.

"What?" Dean snapped. His tone making Emily and Sam raise their eyebrows in shock.

"Are you okay?" Sam finally asked after a terse moment. He refused to react to Dean's anger.

"I'm fine!"

"Yeah? You've been unusually quiet." Emily disagreed softly. She had also noticed he wasn't moving as much as he usually did. In fact, he was holding himself stiffly in place, the way a really sore person did. That, and the fact that he'd barely touched his food, after refusing breakfast, were very concerning.

"Yeah, well, since when is that a bad thing?" Dean groused.

"And you've barely touched your food!" Sam pointed out what Emily hadn't.

"I said I'm okay! Okay? Now drop it! If you two are done, let's pack this in."

"Fine! Here are keys!" Sam said calmly.

Sam's calm tone seemed to annoy Dean even more. "You drive!" he seethed. Sam glared at him. His fiery temper finally flaring; the end of his rope finally reached.

"I'll drive." Emily hesitantly took the proffered keys. The last thing they needed was a fight. Besides, she welcomed any excuse to drive, even though the fact that Dean was willing to let either her or Sam drive, reinforced the idea that he was not fine and it scared her to death.

Both brothers stopped and looked at her. Then Dean strode to the car. She directed a significant loaded look at Sam and he narrowed his eyes, and raised an eyebrow. She widened hers and tilted her head imperceptibly. Sam finally sighed in acquiesce, before heading for the car. She got behind the wheel. "So what's our destination?"

"The motel. We've talked to everyone we can, and it's too early to stake out Marie or Tina." Dean answered. His voice less angry than it had been.

"So we'll go at night?"

"No, they'll be home. We'll go in the morning and wait till they leave for work and school."

"Marie won't go to work. She's on a bereavement leave." Sam informed them.

"Then we'll figure out a way to get her out of the house." Dean said, then turned on the radio, effectively ending further discussion.

* * *

Back in the motel room, Sam and Emily tried their best not to aggravate Dean but it was nearly impossible. He nitpicked everything. He said they clicked the keyboards of their laptops too hard and loud, he thought they turned the pages of their books so often and with a lot of fanfare. The music playing, Led Zeppelin by the way, was not right for the time of day, the dialogue of the soap on TV was annoying, well that one was true, but the list went on. Finally, Sam and Emily were sitting at the desk trying not to breathe too loud. With nothing to complain about, Dean closed his eyes.  
The silence dragged on, becoming almost cloying. Suddenly Emily jumped up like she'd been bitten, strode across to her bag and began pulling out things.

"I'm going to go and do some laundry." she announced to the room at large.

"I'll come with you!" Sam scrambled off his chair. He sorted out his dirty clothes then looked over at Dean who was pretending to be asleep. He shrugged and reached for Dean's bag and grabbed his dirty clothes as well. The two of them raced out of the room like fugitives.

They found a laundromat, did their laundry then wandered until they stumbled upon a mostly deserted cafe. They ordered sandwiches and a pot of coffee. They talked about Dean and resolved they'd confront him the next day if he stayed testy, or after the case if he simmered down. They then theorised about the case for a while, before each got lost in thought.

"Rae, do you ever wish your life was different?" Sam suddenly asked.

Emily paused with her second sandwich halfway to her mouth, then set it back onto the plate carefully. She quirked her mouth in a half smile, half grimace before she spoke softly almost wistfully. "That depends on what exactly you mean. Do I wish my parents never died? Yes! Every single day! Do I wish I'd never found that box? Obviously! Do I wish I'd never learnt about the supernatural world? Hell, yes! But these terrible things brought you and Dean and Bobby and briefly, John into my life, and I wouldn't trade you guys for anything. Do I wish I'd met you all under different circumstances? Of course! That would have been awesome. But I didn't and I don't care. I'm just glad I did. Do I like being on the road with you and Dean? Most of the time, yes. Sometimes I'm sick to death of being in the car, sometimes the motels are crap, the beds are not comfortable, the water isn't hot, sometimes I miss the privacy, but if having you two means living with that, I'll take it any day. So yes, depending on what crap is going on, or what mood I'm in, I sometimes wish my life was different, but for the most part, I don't. The good parts far outweigh the bad."

There was a lengthy silence before Emily asked, "What about you?"

Sam was silent for a moment as he thought about how to express himself. "I couldn't wait to get away from it all, you know. But in leaving, I left behind the one thing that really mattered. Family. So yeah, like you, I sometimes wish it was different, but I wouldn't trade it, if trading meant leaving you and Dean behind."

This time the silence stretched on even longer, before he added. "I do have regrets though."

"So do I. Everyone does." Emily said gently.

"C'est la vie, right?" he said ruefully but with a sudden twinkle in his eye.

"Right!" she smiled.

The silence returned, the sandwiches and coffee disappeared and the books appeared. Sam's head stuck in one of the mythology books while Emily laughed at the pages of 'Surely You're Joking, Mr Feynman' a book she'd bought in one of the towns they'd passed through after leaving Pendleton.

When the café finally closed. They went to a diner, had their dinner and carried back some for Dean.

Both hoped whatever was wrong with him was not serious.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean was in agony. The pain onset had been gradual. It had started as a dull throb, mainly in his joints and he'd been able to ignore it. He put it down to driving for long hours and hitting the ground running when they got to Greenville. A warm shower later that evening had helped reduce the pain, but it had resurfaced during his bar crawl, as he'd tried to find information that might save James Cooper. He'd taken a couple of pain pills before getting in bed. The pain had reduced and he would have been able to sleep if his siblings hadn't been so restless that night.

On the morning of day two the pain had increased to a deep ache, that encompassed not only his joints, but his muscles as well, and as the day went on, the pain significantly increased. It was only by sheer force of will that he was able to function without giving anything away. He was sure Sam and Emily were oblivious, though it certainly helped that the three of them had spent the better part of the day separately. That had been his idea of course. In fact, he'd not even taken the car for a tune up. He'd driven about two blocks away from the library, parked in an empty street and slept for two hours before returning to get Sam and Emily. No reason for them to know that though.

That day, he'd swallowed a couple of Tylenol every four hours to dull the pain. In his siblings' company, he tried hard to pretend he was fine, joking and teasing them like normal. Back at the motel, he'd groaned his way through the shower which did not bring much relief this time. He'd swallowed more Tylenol while in the bathroom, gotten onto his bed and faked sleep. He dully listened to Sam and Emily as they turned the pages of the books they'd pinched. Gosh those two were geeks.

Later, during the searches of the houses, he was glad they didn't encounter anything or anyone, because he was not ready to deal with any drama, even though the drugs had edged off some of the pain.

On their return, he'd fallen into his bed and was lucky to fall asleep. He hoped a rest would provide relief.

Oh, if only. When he awoke with a gasp of pain leaving his lips just after 4 a.m, he finally admitted to himself, something was wrong. He had no idea what the hell was wrong with him, but he knew it was not normal. Pain, especially pain of this magnitude, did not appear from nowhere and persist the way it was. Somehow, whatever they were hunting had gotten to him. How? He had no idea. However, he was not going to tell his siblings just yet. He would wait and see what happened. He shuffled to the bathroom and swallowed more Tylenol.

Well, what happened was that things got considerably worse. By the time the sun came up, he was awake, having been unable to go back to sleep. His joints felt like they were dislocated and his muscles were on fire.

That day, he could barely concentrate, because he was using everything in his power to bear down on the pain, and pretend he was okay. He was now taking three Tylenol each time because two were not working for him anymore. He briefly worried about overdosing but the pain was bad enough that he didn't care if the pills killed him. He was glad he'd chosen to tackle the college, because he got many chances to sit, and he didn't have to drive. He'd wanted to take on the challenge alone but was glad Emily had come with him. She'd handled the dean beautifully, and followed his lead with Simon and Tina without breaking stride. She'd eyed him suspiciously a couple of times but said nothing.

He had realised then that despite his being discreet, she had noticed he wasn't fine. He'd obviously suspected that she and Sam had caught on when they'd tag-teamed him and adamantly insisted he couldn't go to the college alone. Usually the 'You don't have the appropriate ID' excuse was enough to dissuade Emily, but this time it hadn't worked, especially not with Sam offering her use of his and showing her how to use it without anyone noticing the picture. Sam's suspicions had probably been confirmed when Dean had thrown him the keys and skirted round the idea of breakfast.

He wasn't really surprised that they'd caught on so quick. After all, they were intelligent, acutely observant and they knew him well.

However, even though he knew they were aware he wasn't in top form, he was not ready to be questioned or looked at with worry and concern, and when they had done just that, he had snapped at them. The pain and the lack of sleep had made him very waspish. That they didn't call him out on his outburst meant they were scared. They'd tiptoed around him in the motel for nearly an hour before running out to do laundry. In the sudden privacy, he'd moaned and groaned and swallowed four Tylenol. It took just the edge off the pain, but at least it allowed him to doze, not sleep, just doze.

Finally, they were back. He sighed in relief. He didn't know how long they'd been out, or what time it was, but he felt they'd been out forever! If he wasn't feeling so fragile, he'd tear them new ones for staying out so late! They'd brought food, he could smell it; he knew it was for him, but they didn't wake him, clearly not wanting to disturb him. They probably figured he'd get to it when he was ready. He didn't. They didn't turn on the room light, managing not to trip over anything. One day he'd ask them how they managed that. He heard them have their showers, one after the other, heard them get into their beds, each whispering goodnight to the other. He even noticed how long it took them to actually fall asleep.

* * *

It was on the second day in Greenville that Sam and Emily had noticed that Dean was out of sorts. At first they thought it was their fault. They knew their nightmares were keeping him up too and figured that was why he was cranky. After all, they too were lethargic from getting less sleep.

Then they started to notice other things. His lips had become drawn and he was walking around with a bottle of Tylenol in the inside pocket of his jacket. He probably thought they hadn't noticed, but they had, they were hunters after all. And even though Dean's levels of secrecy and self-preservation were way above average, their levels of observation were also above ordinary, and besides, they knew Dean well. Living together in tight quarters had its advantages. They just didn't let on because they knew how defensive he got about being unwell.

They'd stocked more evidence against him when on day two, after the police station visit, he suggested splitting from Sam for interviews with the victims' families and colleagues. It was shocking because whenever possible, Dean kept the three of them together during investigations. Emily had been left in the library for a legitimate reason, but there had been no justification for Dean and Sam to separate. Later that night, on the drive back from crawling round the victims' houses, Dean had suggested he go to the college alone. Sam and Emily were not having any of that. Someone had to keep an eye on him. They shot down every single one of his excuses with enviable expertise. When the two of them joined forces, they were impossible to beat. He never stood a chance, but they gave him props for trying.

That night, neither one had nightmares because their worry had attuned them to Dean. They had both heard him gasp out in pain at about 4 a.m and had both lain still, listening as he'd quietly crept to the bathroom. They'd heard the water at the sink run and knew he was swallowing more pills.

The next day, he'd thrown the car keys in Sam's hands and asked him to drive. That in itself had been shocking but his dismissal of breakfast was downright alarming.

At the college he'd let Emily take the lead, and while she had appreciated it, and carried it out with gusto, she had become even more concerned about him. They'd caught a lucky break, when Dean had been accosted by James Cooper's loyal friends. But Dean hadn't been animated, and even though he'd looked alert, overly so actually, he hadn't been concentrating much on what they had been discussing. It felt like he was concentrating on some inner problem.

Later they'd met up with Sam and Emily had been the one to fill him in on the discoveries. Dean had been glassy eyed, stiff bodied and he'd picked at his food. When Sam and Emily had finally expressed their concern he had bitten their heads off. They'd headed to the motel immediately after that. That too had been shocking because it was only 2 p.m. At the motel, Dean had been testy, taking offense at everything, until Sam and Emily had escaped his company to go do laundry. They'd stayed out until the café closed at 10 p.m, then they'd gone looking for dinner, trying to put off their return to the motel.

It was a little past midnight when they finally returned. They crept into the dark room and jumped over the salt line. They were shocked to find neither a gun pointed in their direction, nor a knife being returned under the pillow. They were greatly disconcerted when Dean didn't get up to chew them up for staying out late. Neither dared turn on the light in the room, they used the light of Sam's computer to locate their night things and get into the blessedly lit bathroom. Emily showered first; Sam let her. This wasn't the time to fight for first shower. They whispered their goodnights and got into bed. It took longer than usual for them to fall asleep, each painfully worried about Dean.

* * *

That night Dean didn't sleep, and that was not an exaggeration. He had never realised a night could be so long. In their world, where darkness was preferred for the cover it provided, nights had always seemed so short. There didn't seem to be enough hours in the night to carry out their activities. Well, not tonight, not when he was stuck in a body wracked with pain. He curled to his side, wrapping his arms round his middle trying to ease at least the ache in his chest. In the dark he couldn't make out either sibling, but he heard their soft breaths. That they were both sleeping peacefully, with no nightmares soothed his mind if not his body. They were going to find out, if they didn't already know. He couldn't hide this anymore. He didn't think he'd even be able to get out of bed, come morning.

He tried to think about the case, the hunt. Why him and not Sam or Emily? Not that he wanted this for his baby brother or sister! No! He would never wish either one of them pain or harm. He was simply wondering if he had somehow brought this on himself or he was just another random victim. And if so, were his siblings in danger? So far the victims were exclusively male so maybe at least Emily was safe. His mind could not focus beyond that. The pain was getting in the way, dulling his senses.

He barely noticed the sun track over the sky, but he knew it was morning because the pain seemed to increase when the sun came up. It was no longer confined to his joints and muscles, it had radiated to his bones and increased in intensity. He had never been more aware of his skeleton like he was at the moment. He felt like all two hundred and six bones in his body were fractured. He actually run a shaking hand along his body to ascertain that he did not have any breaks. Getting out of the bed was murder. He had to grit his teeth to keep back the groans and gasps of pain. He was sure his jaw, which already felt like it was dislocated, was going to crack. He tentatively placed his feet on the ground and slowly got off the bed, gauging whether his legs would carry him. He was surprised they did not buckle, because even though they were not broken, they felt like they were. Walking to the bathroom was excruciating.

He run the shower but could not summon the will to climb into it. He sat in a heap and leaned against the toilet. The coldness of the porcelain did nothing to relieve his pain. He closed his eyes and hummed Metallica's Seek and Destroy. It didn't help either.

"You getting out of there anytime soon?" Sam finally knocked on the door. He and Emily had woken to find Dean already in the shower. Another day with him getting up before either of them. This was beyond unprecedented.

Dean had to take a breath to steady his voice before speaking. "In a minute."

Outside, Sam and Emily looked at each other. Someone else would have missed it, but they both heard the slight tremor in Dean's voice. Also, he sounded closer to the door than he should have if he was having a shower.

"Should we keep up the pretense?" Emily whispered to Sam.

"Let's see what happens when he gets out." Sam whispered back.

Emily padded over to the desk and started up her computer trying to think of something they hadn't thought to research about. Dean had said they would stakeout their suspects' homes today. She wasn't particularly excited about this. She knew first hand how boring stakeouts really were. Cop movies lied!

The bathroom door opened and Dean walked out. Emily tossed him a nonchalant greeting without turning away from her laptop, but she was tracking his movements through it's reflection. She saw Sam pause and look at Dean pointedly, saw Dean huff in annoyance, and shuffle slowly past his brother. Sam went into the bathroom, closing the door reluctantly. For someone who had just walked out of a bathroom, Dean looked decidedly disheveled. It was obvious, he hadn't had a shower. So why had he been running the water? Why was he walking gingerly like that? No wonder Sam was concerned.

Dean sat on his bed, not hiding the wince because he thought Emily wasn't watching. He drew his duffel to himself and riffled through it. He came up with the pill bottle. It was empty! Damn it! He had run out. He should have snagged the ones in Sam's bag. Now he had to get up.

Her laptop was running low on charge, so Emily unfolded herself from the chair and crossed the room to get the charger from her duffel. Usually, Dean was talking by now. Saying anything and everything that crossed his mind. He'd been a little less lively the past couple of days but he'd at least tried to keep up appearances. Not today. He was subdued, silent. She glanced discreetly at him as she inched past him. His eyes were glassy and unfocused and she noticed his breath kept hitching. How long were her brothers going to pretend everything was fine? She couldn't take this anymore. She was going crazy with worry. She snagged the charger and turned to return to the desk. She went past Dean again.

Dean could have asked Emily to pass him the pills, as she crossed the room, but the way she looked at him made him suddenly stubborn and unwilling to ask. He would get the damn things himself. He stood quickly, as if to prove a point. A loud involuntary gasp of pain escaped his lips as a hot pain shot up his legs, body and exploded in his head. His eyes rolled back in his head.

Emily heard the gasp and turned. She only had enough time to throw her feet apart and anchor herself against the expected weight when he fell on her. The breath in her lungs was forced out with a loud oomph, and her knees buckled. She somehow managed to secure him and guide him and herself to the ground ungracefully, yes, but with less momentum than a fall. Her shoulder took the brunt of the impact. Better that than their heads.

"Sam!" she chocked out.

Sam heard the thump then the panic in Emily's voice and ripped the door open. He had been standing at the sink brushing, then shaving while straining to hear the sounds on the other side of the door.

"What happened?" he asked as he pulled Dean off Emily.

"I don't know! He just went down!" She got to her feet and shadowed Sam who lifted Dean as if he weighed nothing and deposited him gently on the bed. "What's wrong with him?" she asked as she rubbed her shoulder.

They both leaned over Dean.

"I don't know!" Sam run a hand quickly over his brother, ascertaining quickly that he was not running a fever, and he was not injured in any way. What the hell? "But whatever it is, this can't be good!" he added.

"What if what we're hunting is causing this?" Emily asked, voicing what they had both suddenly realised.

"He might have picked up a bug. He's not presenting the same symptoms as the others!" Sam said trying to inject hope in his voice.

"Jukić had different symptoms from the other two, but we ... you figured it was the same thing that got all of them. This could be another variation." Emily was not going to take false hope. She was a hunter after all, she didn't need things sugarcoated. "We haven't yet figured out what it is! How are we going to help him?"

"Well, we know he hasn't been himself for about three days now, right?" Sam spoke calmly. If he stayed calm, Emily stayed calm. It was the law of older siblings. Dean did it all the time.

She nodded in agreement.

"So first, we find out what this is exactly. For all we know he could just be under the weather or simply stressed." It was highly unlikely for Dean to be acting out and collapsing because of stress, since he practically thrived on it, but stranger things had happened and Sam still needed to reassure himself and his sister in any way available. "If it's the thing we're after, then we still have four days to figure it out." This deadline was not very reassuring though.

"So what now?" Emily whispered.

"Dean?" Sam called. Nothing. He slapped his brother's cheeks gently, then a little harder.

Dean came to with a moan. "Oh God!" he complained. He wanted a dose of the strongest painkillers in the world. He wanted to drink a whole bottle of whisky and pass out. He wanted to curl into a small ball and die, but his siblings were looking down at him with big worried eyes, so he snarked instead, "Could I breathe some uncontaminated geek-free air please?"

"You fainted!" both Sam and Emily said a little accusatorially. They were not in the mood for his deflections. However, they leaned away slightly.

"No, I did not!" he was affronted, "I do not faint!" he said in true Dean fashion.

The words did not assure Sam and Emily because, Dean had still not tried to get up. That was a sign that he was unquestionably not doing well. Sam and Emily's worry was flying off the scales now.

"Right! Okay, you took an unintended, decisive nap!" Sam still managed to snark despite his fear. "What the hell is going on with you Dean?"

"I'm fine!" Dean said attempting to laugh. It sounded strangled and he quickly gave it up.

"You're not fine and you've not been fine for days. Don't think we didn't notice the pill popping!" Sam's voice was stern.

Wow! He thought they had just caught on recently. Damn these close quarters they had to live in! Damn their big geeky brains! "I don't know what's going on, okay? It's just that …" he went quiet. He really hated admitting weakness. "I'm in pain!" it was said softly as if he was hoping they wouldn't hear and guiltily as if somehow he was to blame for the condition he was in.

"What?" Sam was thrown. He'd thought Dean would confess to being sick or something. "What do you mean you're in pain? Like right now?"

"Yes, now. All the time. And it keeps getting worse."

"All the time?" Sam's voice was horrified. For Dean to admit that he was in pain, meant it was pretty bad. For him to have been in pain for three days was alarming.

"Dean? What kind of pain is it?" Emily's voice was small, worried. She too knew the implications of Dean's admittance.

"Can I have a couple of Tylenol first?" He didn't mean to beg but that is how it sounded.

As Sam went to look for the medicine in his duffel, Dean struggled to sit up, biting down on his lip to keep from crying out. Screw the pain moving brought, but he couldn't have Emily looking down at him like that. It was making him feel unbelievably vulnerable. He impatiently waved away her helping hands and sat up, propping himself on his pillow. Sam filled a cup with water from the bathroom and returned to Dean's side. He shook out two pills from the bottle. "Two haven't worked for about two days now," Dean told him. Sam shook out another two and Dean threw back his head and tossed all four pills in his mouth with Sam and Emily glaring at him with a mixture of disapproval and worry.

He wearily wiped his mouth after drinking the water and closed his eyes, willing the drugs to work quickly which of course they didn't.

"So?" Sam prompted him.

Dean decided not to draw out the confession. "It started four days ago."

"Four? Are you saying this started the day we got here?" Emily was aghast.

"Yeah. At first I had muscle aches and thought I was tired from the driving, and the bar hopping, then it was joint pains, then the bones. The pain has been getting worse too."

"Worse?" Sam was aware he was using only one word questions, but he couldn't articulate himself quite properly at the moment.

"First it was more of an ache, then like constant pins and needles, then like sprains or dislocations, but right now, I feel like every bone in my body is cracked."

Emily's eyes widened in horror at the thought of just how much pain Dean was in. He saw the look and tried to reassure her, "The pills will kick in soon though. They always do."

It wasn't exactly a lie. The pills did kick in, but they didn't take away the pain. Only dulled it. And not even that, today.

"Wanna lie back down?" she asked him gently, breaking the unwritten Winchester rule.

"I'm not sick!" he growled dangerously.

"I didn't say you were!" she muttered. When he continued glaring at her, she backed away. "Fine! Sam? You getting back in there now, or should I go in?" she asked about the bathroom. Sam who was spotting a half shaven chin waved her in. She grabbed her things and disappeared into the bathroom.

The boys were quiet until they heard the shower start.

"You should have said something earlier, Dean!" Sam admonished.

"I thought it wasn't serious, that I was fatigued or something." Dean confessed. "I realised yesterday that it might be."

Sam wanted to scream at Dean, "Then you should have said something yesterday!" but he didn't. It would serve no purpose. They now had three, not four days to stop whatever was doing this or Dean was going to go die. There were no two ways about it. He knew it. Dean realised it. Emily was not dumb and she sure as hell had worked it out too.

"We'll figure this out," Sam instead assured his brother.

"I don't think I'll be much help from here on out." Dean admitted with a sigh.

"Despite what you think, Rae and I are not morons!" Sam smiled. He knew it had taken a lot for Dean to admit that. So it was his turn to deflect with a joke.

"No, but you're dorks!" Dean latched onto Sam's deflection with gratitude and a grin.

"Well, we don't need to be James Dean wannabes to figure this out, do we?"

"I'm not a James Dean wannabe!" Dean objected.

"Wait? Don't tell me you were trying for a Johnny Strabler look?" Sam teased. Of course he knew Dean wore the leather jacket because it was their dad's.

Dean snorted a laugh. "No, you smart ass!"

"Indiana Jones?"

"Do you see me wearing a hat? Or carrying a whip?" Dean complained good-naturedly. "Wait, I could pull off carrying a whip. Don't you think?"

Sam laughed heartily.

In the shower, Emily thought about Dean. He'd been in pain for days and not told them, not because he was a glutton for pain, but because he did not know how to handle the loss of control. The three of them were stubbornly independent, but Dean took it to unbelievable heights unlike her and Sam, who from time to time admitted their limits and were willing to accept help sometimes. She understood that Dean hated being debilitated, hated feeling useless and she realised that her uncharacteristic tone had made him feel even worse. She had made him feel inadequate, which explained the growl and the glare.

Seeing Dean indisposed was a first for her and she admitted it was damn scary, but that was no excuse for her to treat him like he was a small, hurt child. No wonder he had felt insulted. She resolved to treat him like she normally did. With playful affection. With nonchalant concern. And with firm assertiveness if need arose.

When Emily got out of the bathroom, Sam went in, finished his shave and had the quickest shower of his life. He found Emily seated next to Dean enthusing about the Battle of Cowpens, and how they absolutely had to visit the battlefield before they left South Carolina. Dean was just as excited. "Do we get to take part in one of those enactments?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, no!" Emily burst his bubble.

"Then what's the point?" Dean sulked.

"The point is you'll learn a bit of history without having to read about it!" Sam snickered as he placed his laptop and a couple of books in his satchel.

"Rae, could you throw a pillow at him for me." Dean asked while glaring at Sam's back.

"She wouldn't dare!" Sam betted mildly without looking up.

Emily grabbed a pillow and waited. The minute Sam turned around, she launched it and hit him smack in the face. The look on his face was priceless and made Emily and Dean convulse with laughter. Dean's mirth was cut short with a wince as his laughter jarred his body and he was painfully reminded why he was not the one throwing or dodging pillows.

Both his siblings looked at him with such fearful concern, he felt raw and exposed. He wanted to hide. He should be the one looking at them like that, not the other way round. He needed to say something to get them to stop looking at him like that. They beat him to the punch. Both quickly sensed his discomfort and schooled their faces into neutral masks. He wanted to sigh with relief. He wanted to hug them for understanding. He couldn't do either. Wouldn't have, even if he'd been able.

Emily got off the bed, grabbed the now empty cup, rushed to the bathroom and filled it with water and placed it on the nightstand next to him. This was the closest she could come to hugging him today. Stubborn bastard! She also made sure her laptop was close to him, just in case he wanted to listen to some music, or watch a movie. He knew her password.

Forcing a lightheartedness he didn't feel, Sam said, "Right, we're out of here. You can check out to your heart's content!"

"Eeew!" Emily said. "Don't you dare! Not on my computer!"

"Sam taught me all about clearing history, so you'll never know!" Dean quipped back.

"Yes I will!"

Sam and Emily stepped over the salt line and out the door, both making a conscious effort not to turn back and look at their brother.

Sam got behind the wheel of the impala. He took a deep breath and started the car.

The hunt had officially gone from just another hunt to a saving Dean mission. This had become personal.


	9. Chapter 9

They watched the house. A teenage boy had left first, about an hour earlier, picked up by a group of loud, happy teenagers in a Versa. A harried looking woman left almost ten minutes later walking quickly round the block. The man had driven away just five minutes ago. They knew Tina was the only one left in the house and it was only a matter of time before she too left.

"You know, if heaven forbid we don't end this today, we're going to need to hit up a pharmacy and get Dean stronger drugs." Emily began, not taking her eyes off the house. She held her breath waiting for the 'No, goddammit, this ends today!' explosion. It didn't come. Evidently Sam was more realistic about the circumstances, than Dean would have been.

Shit! Sam thought. Emily had voiced what he'd been thinking. Dean being a target had really changed things. As of four days ago neither Tina and Marie had reason to hurt Dean, at least not a personal reason. So that alone negated the motive they'd reached, and possibly the suspects too. Of course he and Emily were still going to check out Tina and Marie, if only to strike them off the suspect list. Needless to say, it would be great if one of them was the culprit, but Sam seriously doubted that now.

"Yeah. We'll try sneaking into the hospital tonight and get some codeine or something like that." Hospitals were easier to get into than private pharmacies.

"Actually, I was thinking something stronger. James told me he was taking morphine, and yet from your dream, he was still in terrible pain," she said mildly, in complete contrast to her wildly beating heart. She was terrified.

Sam's heart skipped. Despite what he knew, he hadn't really connected the other guys' symptoms to Dean yet. Now that Emily had pointed it out, and he'd finally thought about it, he imagined just how much pain Dean was in. "So you want us to get him morphine?" he asked just as mildly.

"I was thinking Oxycodone or maybe Percocet." The inflection at the end of her sentence made it sound like a question. Sam knew that meant that she was unsure, that she wanted him to make the final decision. He wondered how she even knew about these drugs. But now was not the time to ask.

"He'll never allow it, you know! It affects him differently from how it affected James." Sam said softly.

"You can convince him," Emily said. While she could sometimes get Dean to open up, something that was damn near impossible, Sam was the one who could get Dean to do anything. He rarely used his power, but he knew which of Dean's buttons to push when he needed to. Heck, he knew which of her buttons to push. It was those damn puppy eyes of his, and possibly his earnest way of talking.

Sam sighed. "Yeah, I guess I can." Silence enveloped the car. "Um, you do realise you're going to have to stay back at the motel, right?" he added suddenly.

"What?" Emily exploded. She could not believe he wanted her out of the way. After all the times she'd proved herself since leaving Bobby's? Hell no! She was not going to be left behind in a motel room wringing her hands! "You want me out of the way? After everything we've been through? This is as much my fight as it is yours, Sam. I will not be shunted off to the side! Dean is important to me too!"

"Exactly!" Sam yelled back. He run a shaky agitated hand through his hair and took a deep breath to calm himself. "Look, I'm not shunting you off! You're a good hunter … you're smart, and you're fast and under different circumstances, I would absolutely want you hunting with me." Emily opened her mouth to interrupt, but Sam cut her off before she got a word out. "But this time, I want you … no, I need you to watch out for Dean. He's taking four tylenol at a go, we don't even know how often, what if he does that with the oxy?"

Oh God! Emily's breath hitched as she thought about that. Dean would undoubtedly die if that happened. She understood now. Sam as usual, had had the presence of mind to think beyond the hunt. He wasn't undermining her ability, he was giving her a task as important as his. In the end she might not face a monster, but she was as integral to Dean's survival as Sam was. "Yeah, I'll stay."

"Good!" Sam said. Saying thanks would have been an insult to her so he didn't say it.

Time crawled by in the silence. This was why Emily hated stakeouts.

"So I'm going to babysit the mighty Dean Winchester? Oh, he's gonna love that!" Emily suddenly laughed in the silence.

"I know, right?" Sam cackled. Dean was probably the most belligerent invalid in the world! But Sam was not worried. Emily had Dean's number! She could be as snotty and as bossy as get out. Still, it was going to be fun to behold, a veritable battle of wills, with both being assertive and incredibly pigheaded.

"We'll have to change rooms too," he added.

"Why?"

"The rooms on the other end have bathtubs with shower heads instead of just having shower stalls," he said. He didn't need to explain any further. She got it.

"Hey, that's great, but remind me to get some bleach. I'm naturally distrusting of public bathtubs!" she said.

"Just so you know, Dean thinks bathtubs are for girls!"

"Figures!" Emily snorted in derision. Dean was an idiot. She thought, not for the first time.

They sat in comfortable silence for what seemed like forever. "Oh there she goes. I was beginning to think she was going to skip her classes today." Emily huffed in relief.

"It's okay to skip a class, or two … hundred!" Sam teased her with the words she'd grumbled the morning they went to the college.

"I was hungry!" she defended herself with a grin.

The smiles had disappeared by the time they sneaked out of the house. They'd found nothing. It was disheartening because both had considered Tina the stronger suspect of the two.

To get Marie out of her house, Emily phoned her pretending to be calling from Natalia's daycare centre. The woman was out of there in what felt like seconds. Unfortunately it was all for nothing as her house was clean as well.

"Might as well go get that bleach," Sam said in a dejected voice.

They drove in silence, bought drive-thru lunches in silence, shopped for bleach and a couple of other things in silence and it was only on the way back that they spoke.

"You still think we're dealing with a curse, don't you?" Sam asked, his brow furrowed.

"Yes! Don't you?"

"We'd have found something. A hex bag, ju ju, a voodoo effigy, something!" the panic he was feeling leeched through into his voice.

"So maybe it's a symbol less curse?" Emily said calmly. It was like the two of them had some kind of weird panic-calm match going on; they kept tossing the two feelings back and forth between themselves. When Emily was panicky, Sam was coolly calm and vice versa.

"Symbol less? There's no such thing."

"Wait? You keep telling Dean that just because we've not come across something doesn't mean it doesn't exist, and now you're being the sceptic? You've read 'Thinner' right?"

"The Stephen King book? I started it, never got round to finishing it. Why?"

"There were three curses. No symbols. Just a pissed off gypsy cursing a trio of scumbags."

"Thats a fictional story."

"Come on, most of the things you've seen would be considered fictional. Why would this be any different?"

"Fine, say it's a gypsy curse …"

"Romany! Gypsy isn't used anymore!"

"You used it!"

"Coz I was talking about the story. You're not!"

"But … dammit, that's beside the point!" Sam realised he was getting off track. "So, say it's a Romany curse, that still doesn't bring us any closer to finding out who is behind it!"

"We'll figure it out. I'm kinda smart, and you're a genius."

"Yeah, flattery will get you anywhere! I knew there was a reason I liked you!"

"And here I was thinking it was because I'm charming!"

When they got to the motel, Sam went to the manager to arrange for a room inspection and switch while Emily was charged with packing up theirs.

When she opened the door, Dean turned to look at her with pain glazed eyes, a gun held in a white knuckled hand. Gosh, he looked terrible. Sam was right. One of them needed to stay with Dean. In fact, one of them should have stayed today. "Hey!" she greeted him cheerily remembering her resolution not to treat him differently.

He moistened his lips before replying. She picked up the empty glass and brought him more water. He was sitting up by the time she returned. He nodded his thanks and sipped gratefully. She crossed the room and began to pack her bag. He watched her silently until she began to chuck things into Sam's duffel. "Where are we going?" he asked, his voice a little scratchy from hours of silence.

"We're still stuck in Greenville, we're just moving a few rooms down." Emily didn't look up.

"Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"It's a better room."

"How?"

"You'll see." She picked Dean's duffel off the floor and put it on his bed so he wouldn't have to bend. She flurried around the room gathering his things; not surprisingly, of the three of them, he was the one whose things tended to spread out most. She dumped them unceremoniously next to his duffel. "Feel free to lend a hand or two!" she griped at him.

"Hey, not fair. You packed for Sam!" he complained good-naturedly.

"Coz he's doing his part!" she retorted. By now Sam had to have gotten the room and was probably unpacking the things they'd bought. She hoped he cleaned the bathroom too so she wouldn't have to, but chances were, he hadn't even thought about it. Her brothers were unconventional in so many ways, but boys would always be boys! If not asked, they wouldn't clean; Dean wouldn't even pick up after himself!

Dean swung his legs off the bed, placed his feet tentatively on the floor as if testing their functionality, then got up slowly. The pain was still there but it was easing a little, the Tylenol he'd swallowed about ten minutes earlier finally working. It was taking considerably longer for them to work and their effect was lasting a shorter time. Satisfied he wasn't going to face plant, he shuffled to the foot of his bed and began to stuff his things into his duffel. Emily was now doing a quick inventory of the weapons in the bag. Sam walked in as both were zipping up.

"Are you two turning into molasses or something?"

"Don't blame the cripple!" Dean quipped. Emily and Sam smiled. Even though his voice was laced with pain, Dean was still making crazy jokes. "It's actually your fault Sam, your stuff was everywhere!" he added.

"Yeah? That can only mean you touched and moved my stuff!" Sam retorted crossing to get the three bags Emily had packed, then in one long stride, he was by Dean's side grabbing his bag as well. Dean made to object then thought better of it. Might as well let Gigantor carry the bags. He needed to get more muscle definition anyway. "We're in 118, by the way!" Sam tossed over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

Emily grabbed her laptop from Dean's bed and placed it in her satchel. She was pretty sure Dean hadn't used it. It was in the same spot she'd left it and it was cold. She was packing the books on the desk into the satchel when she heard the gasp. She willed herself not to turn and continued with her activity.

"Hey, Rae?" Dean began hesitantly. She turned in answer, a quizzical look on her face. He was seated back on the bed, an unreadable look on his face. "Can you help with those?" he asked looking down at his boots. Well, that explained the gasp. He'd probably tried to bend. Stubborn idiot. Carrying the overloaded satchel over with her, she tossed it nonchalantly next to him and knelt down.

As she helped him get on the boots, Emily realised she really had to hand it to Sam. This was all his doing. When he'd asked her to pack up for him, she'd not thought much of it. Now she understood that in packing for Sam, she'd made Dean less awkward about accepting her help. He didn't feel like he was being singled out or indulged. Also the fact that she had not outright packed for him had made him feel less vulnerable. It had made him secure enough to ask for help. Damn, Sam should have been studying psychology not law in college! He was brilliant.

Dean was aware and glad that Emily was looking out for him and that she was doing it without fussing or hovering. If she'd been, he'd have instinctively retreated. It was a sad but natural, knee jerk reaction that had started in the days immediately after his mother's death. While he'd withdrawn from everyone but Sammy in those days, he'd been particularly resistant to mothering. He'd hated those fussy, cheek pinching, huggy women with all his heart. For weeks, he'd wished one of them had died instead of his mother. Of course he'd soon stopped this uncharitable wishing, but he'd never been comfortable with mother hens since then. Being raised by probably the least expressive man alive, and fostered by two other males who weren't exactly hugging types either, had certainly not helped his aversion. So he'd been terrified that because he was not feeling a hundred percent, his cheeky, mouthy, smart ass sister was going to turn into one of those dreaded mother hens. But so far, she hadn't. And for that, he was grateful.

Done with the shoes, Emily stood and picked her satchel. She knew better than to help him up. He'd only asked for help with the one thing. Ever the consummate hunter, he didn't forget about his bowie knife under the pillow.

She scanned the room quickly, making sure they'd left nothing behind. "Come on Gimpy!" she called over her shoulder.

He chuckled in appreciation. No, his beloved sister was not morphing into a mollycoddling nightmare. "Lead the way Pukey!" he shot back and shuffled carefully after her.

Emily smiled. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be so hard.

Then they got to the room and she promptly reconsidered that thought.

The room was one of those where the bathroom was located off to the side as one entered the door. Its door was open, and so the first thing Dean saw in the room was the bathtub. He stopped and stared at it in such disbelief that Emily peeked round him to see what had shocked him so much. There was nothing as far as she could see so she whispered, "What?"

"I'm not going to bathe in that!" he chocked out. His voice dismayed and horrified.

"I'm gonna clean it, okay!" Emily said in exasperation.

Dammit! The thing's cleanliness wasn't the issue. He looked round and down at her, opened his mouth to say something, decided she wouldn't understand, threw his hands up and despite the pain stormed further into the room bellowing Sam's name.

Showtime! Sam thought when he heard his brother's exclamation. He sat on his bed and raised his head in anticipation. A visibly livid Dean walked into his line of vision. Sam fought the urge to giggle because really, it was ridiculous for Dean to be so worked up over such a non issue.

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean began heatedly, then stopped as he took in the rest of the betrayal. "I sleep closest to the door, you know that!" he said in a quietly dangerous voice.

Emily knew the implications of that voice. Nope, she was not hanging around for this. Let Sam handle this one. She dropped her satchel on the desk, grabbed the cleaning supplies and disappeared into the bathroom.

"I know you sleep nearest the door, Dean, but I thought it best we switch for the next few days."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know what I mean. Dean, the only thing keeping you on your feet right now is your anger. You're not well. You're not in condition to be the first line of protection for us."

"Oh really? Wanna spar? Prove your theory?" Dean challenged.

Sam looked at him in disbelief. Dean was dead serious, even though he had began to sway; the walk from the other room having taken a lot from him. "Don't be an idiot!" Sam began. Dean's nose flared furiously but Sam continued unperturbed, "We can't spar in the room. It's too small. We don't have the funds to pay for damages. We have to take it outside!"

God, the pain was back. The stupid pills were keeping it away for only so long. And it was too soon to swallow more. He clenched his fists and Sam stared at them incredulously. Dean wanted to die of mortification right there; he was in no condition to spar. Trying not to wince, he inched to the left until he met the wall. He so badly wanted to lie down or at least sit, but he was going to stand even if it killed him. He wasn't giving Sam the satisfaction of being right. Damn, he hated it when Sam was right. He hated it more when Sam was reasonable. Reasonable Sam made him look like a raging madman. "Fuck you Sam, I'm not using that bathtub!" he muttered as if Sam had just asked him to. He was trying to hold onto his anger in order to fight the pain. He knew he was being unreasonable and unfair and rather childish, but he had no one else to rage against.

Sam wanted to snicker at his brother's petulance, but that would annoy Dean even more, so he pretended not to have heard. Sometimes, ignoring Dean like he was a tantruming two year old was the best weapon. This always worked because like a two year old, Dean simply couldn't sustain a fit. He didn't hold grudges either; something Sam greatly admired him for.

They stayed in silence listening to Emily clean and sing. To keep from speaking, Dean concentrated on the song, trying to figure out what it was. He couldn't identify it. He liked it though. Or maybe, he liked Emily singing it. And that made him mad. She shouldn't be here in the middle of nowhere cleaning a motel bathroom, trying to distract herself from the reality of her life. She could be anything she wanted, she could sing and she was smart. Sam too. Instead, here they both were, trying to find a way to keep him alive. And he wasn't even being nice about it. And he wasn't going to be nice. He was dying. A dying man was allowed to be unreasonable, right? But that was not the only reason he was being difficult. He was acting this way because it was his duty to look after Sam and Emily, and he would until the day he checked out, so he was being a dick, for their sakes. He was trying to distract them from his pending death. It was the only thing he could think to do in his condition. The third reason was that he hadn't been cared for in so long, that he didn't know what to make of it. So naturally, he baulked. Reason four, he was so used to being strong, being the protector, the leader, and he hated being and feeling useless so obviously he took out his insecurities on those closest to him. Gosh, could he be any more neurotic? And nuts? Well, bathtubs were for girls! For sure, he was justified on this one! There had to be books written on it or something.

The silence dragged on. Emily sang another song. Another one he couldn't identify. Was it possible these were original compositions? After a while, he sighed. He had never been able to win a silent feud between him and Sam. Sam could contentedly live in silence possibly forever. "What did you find?" he finally asked. He didn't want to know. He knew what the answer would be, but he had to start the conversation somewhere.

"A bunch of nothing!" Sam spat. He stood in agitation and began to pace in a tight circle. Dean knew his anger was actually frustration, and fear and worry.

"Sammy?" Dean said softly. Sam stopped and looked at him with such a pained, stark look in his eyes, that Dean wanted to hug him. Since he couldn't, he absolved him. "I didn't think you would!"

"What?" Sam's eyes widened dramatically.

"I don't fit the motive."

"Yeah, we figured as much." Sam sighed. He sat at the desk and Dean joined him. Sam was glad that his brother was finally sitting down. Sam could see from the clenched jaw, the ridiculous control Dean was exerting on himself. He loved his brother, but God, Dean was a stubborn, proud idiot! Saying nothing about the pain in Dean's eyes, Sam instead told him about Emily's symbol-less curse theory and was amazed to see Dean consider it. "I thought you were a complete sceptic?" Sam breathed in shock.

"Still am, but this kind of makes sense." he paused for a moment. "Unlike angels!"

Sam smiled. Sometimes he thought Dean was a sceptic only on principle!

When Emily finished cleaning the bathroom declaring it suitably sanitary, and earning an eye roll from Dean, they had their lunch. Dean took two bites of his burger before losing interest. Emily, thinking they'd already covered it, chided him. "With oxycodone, you're going to have to eat more than that!"

Dean's jaw dropped. Sam held his breath. The silence lasted for all of two seconds but it felt endless.

"Oxycodone?" Dean asked with narrowed eyes. Shit! Emily thought. Dean's head swiveled to Sam. He wasn't the one who had spoken about it, but he was the older of the two dorks. "What is she talking about?" he asked. Sam told him. A lengthy silence filled the room after.

"You two want to drug me!" Dean finally broke the silence.

Sam and Emily's hearts stalled. This was not what they had expected. Anger they could deal with. Dejected resignation, not so much.

"Dean …" Emily began.

"It's bad enough you want me to use a bathtub, but you also want to drug me as well?"

Sam and Emily did not understand how those two things were on the same level of terribleness.

"I thought it would help." Emily took full responsibility for the decision.

"I thought so too!" Sam was not going to leave her alone under the bus.

"Help how? You of all people know how I get on morphine!" Dean said to Sam.

"Yes, I do. I know you get all loopy and goofy, but the important thing is that you won't be in pain."

"But I'll be useless!" Finally, there was the anger they'd been expecting. The anger they knew they could deal with.

"Well, in case you've not noticed, you're not very useful right now!" Sam said. His frustration pouring out unintended. Dean's anger was immediately quenched, replaced by hurt.

"Sam!" Emily admonished.

"Dean …" Sam began apologetically.

"Screw you … both!" Dean said with no heat to his words, just grief that seared straight to his siblings' hearts. He stood shakily from the table, biting back a gasp. Sam and Emily jumped to help but his icy glare stopped them dead.

Damn, he was in pain, but God help him, he was going to get to his bed without any help. He wished he could go somewhere else; storm out of here and go for a drive maybe. But he couldn't. And much as he hated to admit it, maybe his siblings' oxycodone idea wasn't so bad after all! It would definitely work better than the Tylenol. But it would take away his functionality. Fuck, who was he kidding? It was taking him decades to reach his bed which was like two centimeters away. Yeah, Sam was right. With or without the oxy, he was useless. Oh thank heavens, finally he had reached his bed. He could lie here and try to dislodge the knife in his heart.

Sam and Emily sat there, not knowing what to do. Their appetites were gone as well. Dean was ignoring them, though he occasionally looked over at them with terrible, damning, accusatory glares. They couldn't understand why he had taken the suggestion so badly. It seemed so reasonable whichever way they looked at it.

That was because they were looking at it logically, but right then, Dean was virtually just emotion. All he saw was his siblings not needing him, even when he was still around. They'd gone out today, without asking for his advice, or his thoughts and they had made decisions without him. Decisions for him; like he was a child. He didn't know what to think about the oxycodone suggestion. He didn't know whether to class it as an insult or a betrayal or a humanitarian gesture by concerned siblings. Rationally, he knew they meant well, but the rational part of him was being overpowered by his insecure emotionally damaged side; a side he would never acknowledge he had.

Suddenly, without discussion, Sam and Emily both burst into action, their movements synchronised as if rehearsed. They cleared the table, threw away the unwanted food, grabbed the shopping bags and piled the snacks and placed the drinks in the mini bar. Then both sat back down at the desk with their laptops.

Intrigued, Dean watched them. He'd never before noticed how well they worked together, how seamlessly they got along. Without him. He supposed it was because he'd never had to stand outside looking in. He felt a pang, and he didn't know whether it was envy or sadness or love for them. Possibly all three. They'd be okay without him. He could see it now. Wow, that really hurt but he knew it was a good thing. It would make his passing easier for them.

He closed his eyes. Tried to ignore the new non-pyhsical pain he was feeling.


	10. Chapter 10

Being in a room with someone who was alternating between pretending they didn't exist, and glaring antagonistically at them should have been unsettling to Sam and Emily, but it wasn't. They were determined to save their brother, even though he took great exception to their concern, even though he fought them every step of the way, even though he was acting up. In fact, they both secretly admitted to themselves, they liked that Dean was being impossible. It made the reality of his obvious frailty less scary. They cleared the table, put things away and sat down with their laptops to continue their research. It was an hour before the silence was broken.

"Hey, look, there's an occult shop at the very edge of the town. We can drop by there, make some enquiries. Maybe we'll find or learn something. The worst that can happen is we waste a few minutes talking to a clueless shop owner. If we leave soon, we'll get there before the shop closes." Emily knew she was clutching at straws, but sometimes flimsy straws covered a sturdy plank that you could grab and float on. No lead was really useless.

Sam considered the information and figured it wouldn't hurt. "I'll go check it out."

"Nuh uh, I'm coming too!" Emily interjected and when Sam looked like he was going to object, she continued quickly, "Hey, I'm not going back on my word, we agreed the staying back from the hunt deal starts at the end of today, so I have the whole day today. Besides, there's no oxy yet, and what are the chances he'll use the bathtub in our absence and drown?"

Sam glanced over at Dean. Though his eyes had been closed for a while now, his stiff posture was indication that he was awake. "Fine," Sam agreed with a smile. Gosh, Emily would have been great at finding loopholes in contracts.

"Awesome!" Emily cheered, and for some reason, that suddenly reminded Sam of her age. Nearly mirroring her actions from the morning, she rushed to fill a cup with water, placed it and a loosely capped bottle of 7up on the night stand next to Dean's bed and placed her laptop beside him. She tentatively hovered her hand over him then withdrew it without touching him. She looked down at him for a moment, with an unreadable look in her eyes. Then she turned away quickly, fussing with her braid. Sam who was going through the weapon's bag pretended not to have noticed. He shook his head at his siblings' quirks.

He threw the impala's keys at her and she snatched them neatly out of the air. "Go ahead, start her up. I need to use the bathroom." She left, psyched at the chance to drive. He waited a beat until he was sure she was not lingering at the door. "Hey Dean?"

"I'm really not in the heart to heart mood, Sam!" Dean knew better than to pretend he was sleeping.

Sam was not going to leave without saying his piece. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? What I said … it came out all wrong. What I meant is that your pain is debilitating to us … me and Rae. Even if you won't admit it, we know you're hurting, Dean; we're your siblings and we know you, and it's damn hard to concentrate on anything when we're so focused on your suffering. Right now, Rae's nerves are shot to hell because she's in her head all the time trying to calculate just how much pain you're in. To be honest, so am I!"

He waited a beat, to see whether Dean would react, then continued in a thick, clogged voice; a voice filled with unshed tears. "We are trying to save you Dean, but we need your help. And right now, the best way you can help, is by not being in pain. And frankly, by not being a pain! Please, let us do this for you. Please."

Dean opened his eyes and looked at Sam. He saw the truth in his brother's eyes, and realised then that he was being selfish. His pain wasn't just his. His siblings were hurting too. Not physically like him, but they were in pain. His martyrdom might cost three lives, not just his own. Besides, he realized with a pang, he didn't want to die. Fuck it, he was too young.

"I hate this, Sam. I hate being useless."

"You're not useless, Dean. You'll never be useless, certainly not to me, and not to Rae. No matter what. You're our brother! And that alone is enough!" Sam spoke forcefully.

"Yeah, I'm your big brother. I should be looking out for you guys, not the other way around."

"Well, when you get better, you can invoke your big brother rights and go right back to being obnoxious!" Sam laughed.

"I'm not obnoxious!" Dean pouted, but his pain filled eyes were twinkling with mirth. Sam reached for the pill bottle and shook out four for Dean. They were running low on the Tylenol as well. Dean swallowed them, looked searchingly at Sam then nodded. "I trust you, and I trust that crazy punk out there, so yeah, I'll allow the oxy."

Sam sighed in relief.

"But every stupid thing I might do or say under it's influence is never to be fodder for any jokes, or any conversation!" Dean added sternly.

"What happens under the influence of oxy, will forever remain a secret." Sam crossed his heart, then after a beat, he laughed, "Besides, I have enough material from all the times you've been drunk!"

"Oh, don't go there or else I'll get a few happy tales from our childhood!"

"You wouldn't dare! And anyway, you did more stupid things than I did!"

"That is still up for debate!"

"No, it isn't. Rae voted ... you lost. Speaking of which, could you try to remember that she's rather expressive? That for her, physical contact is comforting?"

"I know that!" Dean objected. He might not be one for giving hugs, but he understood Emily's need for physical contact and accommodated it graciously. Truthfully, he didn't just accommodate it, he enjoyed it. With her, he could be a little touchy-feely and not get called girly for it. It was great.

"Well, then remember it works both ways for her. That she gets as much comfort from giving as she does from receiving. You know, before she left, she reached out to touch you, but withdrew her hand. She didn't know I noticed, but I did. She needs you, Dean. But she doesn't know how to approach you, because you're not exactly laying out the welcome mat."

"She's never been afraid to initiate contact before!" Dean said in disbelief.

"She is now. I don't know why, but I'm guessing it's the same reason she's less touchy-feely when she's feeling vulnerable. You might have to make the first move."

"Fine. I'll get all girly, but I'm not using the tub!" as usual, Dean deflected.

"First, Rae isn't all that girly, and even if she were, she'd still be awesome. Secondly, there's nothing wrong with being girly, especially if said person is a girl, third, tubs are not just for girls and fourth, you do realise there's a shower head if showering as opposed to soaking means so much to you!" Sam couldn't help laughing. "But hey, don't knock the tub until you've tried it. Remember how much you despised frozen yoghurt?"

"What are you talking about? I still do!" Dean tried to glower.

"No, you don't!" Sam snickered. "You make Rae get the large cup and mooch off of her!"

Apparently, Sam had noticed! All knowing little bugger that he was! There was obviously no need for Dean to keep up the pretence now. "Well, why do they have to serve it in such girly cups?" he groused. "It's a conspiracy, I tell you. To make us guys miss out on awesome things. Have you ever tasted an appletini?"

Sam shook his head, wondering where this was going.

"You should try it one day. It's awesome! Just make sure you're with a girl for cover!"

"You're such a dork, you know that?" Sam laughed.

"If by that you mean the coolest guy you know, then yes I am! You'd better get going before Rae drives off without you."

Sam knew that was Dean's way of telling him he'd left their sister alone long enough and that he was worried. He successfully fought the urge to ask Dean whether he would be okay, and instead told him where he and Emily were headed. Then he left his brother's side.

* * *

If the shop owner had been going for a sombre look, he or she had not done a good job of it, at least not on the outside. The exterior was painted black and red, but the effect was more cartoonish than mysterious. Sam and Emily were still snickering when they got inside. The interior however, made up for the outside. The somberness had been achieved perfectly on the inside. It was gloomy and dark and brought to mind a funeral. It made them feel like whispering.

There was no one behind the counter. Emily elbow poked Sam to prompt him to call out. Instead he poked back, and mouthed 'you do it!' and they went back and forth until Sam sighed and called out.

"A minute!" a female voice called out.

The woman, who was aged anywhere between twenty and thirty, was so different from what they'd been expecting. She was an explosion of colour. Her bright, straight-out-of-a-bottle red hair had a huge blue bow in it, she was wearing a yellow dress with green polka dots, a blue sweater embroidered with mustard colored flowers and bracelets of every conceivable colour. Emily resisted the impulse to lean over the counter to see what colour of shoes she was wearing.

"Hi, I'm Mabel, how can I help you?" the woman chirped. Sam and Emily were so thrown by Mabel's outfit and her chirpiness, especially in contrast to the shop's somberness, that neither spoke, they just stood there staring at her. It was a wonder she did not get offended or annoyed. "Are you guys looking for something? I was about to close up!" she prompted them.

"Eer, yeah. Information actually." Sam answered.

"Oh, shucks, I don't think I'll be much help there! I'm keeping store for my mom! She broke her leg and I was free for a couple of weeks! But you can still ask! If it's more than I can handle, I can relay the question to her and you can come back!"

Emily wondered whether Mabel ever spoke a sentence, as opposed to exclaiming.

"Okay. Umm, we're writing a paper on curses and we were wondering if there is anything like a symbol-less curse." Sam revealed.

"Symbol-less?"

"Yeah, like is it possible to curse a complete stranger without meeting them? Without using an image or anything of theirs? And without them using a cursed object or living in a cursed house? You get my drift?" Emily elaborated.

"Wow, you guys are really writing a weird paper! I have no clue about curses! Thought you were going to ask about a trinket or something! I guess I'll have to ask mom!"

"Would it be possible to meet her instead?" Sam asked excitedly. When Mabel looked like a person suddenly faced with a crazed stalker, Sam continued, employing the puppy eyes this time. "I mean it would really be awesome to meet her, and pick her brain. Besides, geek princess here, might think up some new questions tonight!" he finished with a long suffering sigh.

Emily played along by rolling her eyes. "Good results take work, nerd king!"

Mabel laughed, a happy tinkling laugh that seemed to get absorbed by the room. "Mom will just love you two! She's always trying to get me interested in this stuff, but it's just too dark for me! I'm a photographer. So yeah, I'll ask her. I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

"Thank you!" Sam smiled winningly. Emily nodded earnestly as well.

"Gosh, you two are cute! If I hadn't left my gear behind, I'd photograph you." Mabel said regretfully.

"Umm, thanks … I guess?" Sam said as they backed away and left the shop.

"Cute? Jeez! Two guesses what she photographs?" Emily groused once they were in the car.

"Babies, puppies and flowers!" Sam said in a huffy voice. "I don't know why you're so mad, you're a girl. It's okay for you to be cuuuute!" he said the last word in a cooing voice. "I'm a guy! I can't be cute!"

Emily looked at her brother. His exasperation was hilarious. Even though he was crazy tall, she would categorize Sam's looks as boyishly handsome. His shaggy hair and a yet to harden baby-face lent credence to that observation. Also, he was still a little gangly and awkward and he tended to walk with his head down and his hands in his pockets. He didn't yet exude that rugged, alpha male quality that Dean projected so effortlessly. But, there was something about Sam's shoulders that hinted to the powerful man he would become with time. He was his father's son after all. But for now, she supposed he was cute! She'd never tell him that though; for self preservation reasons obviously!

Suddenly a smile began playing on her lips. Her disgruntlement gone in the face of Sam's. "Guess who you sound like right now?" she teased him.

"Who?" his voice was still huffy.

"Dean!" Emily giggled. Dean felt it was the biggest insult to be called cute. Handsome, good-looking, attractive, even gorgeous, were all welcome. Cute? Not so much!

"Oh good heavens, no! Dean's so vain!" Sam laughed, realising he was indeed acting like his brother.

"I know!"

They fell about laughing. Neither acknowledging the underlying panic in their laughter.

* * *

He'd never disclose it, but Dean hated being alone more than anything else. He'd even take hovering, smothering, fussy attention over being alone. So he felt the void as soon as the door closed behind Sam. He'd felt the same way in the morning. He desperately missed his siblings.

He knew not many people found a best friend and confidant in their brother, or a good friend and companion in a sister they'd known less than a year, and he knew how lucky he was. But he also aware of the alienation this brought. Without Sam and Emily he felt lost. And if he was being completely truthful, he felt a little incomplete. Of course with the way he carried on, they probably never realised how much he depended on them, how much he actually needed them. And truthfully, he preferred they never realised this.

With a sigh, he turned onto his side and curled into a tight ball, willing the drugs to work and when they finally did, he fell asleep, and had terrible dreams in which Sam and Emily died instead of him, leaving him alone and lost and purposeless.

* * *

Sam and Emily scoped out the hospital and found a relatively risk free point of entry. Then they waited for darkness to fall and the staff numbers to reduce. Both were worried and pensive. They wondered whether they were doing enough to save their brother. Dean would be moving heaven and hell if the tables were turned.

"I liked Mabel's dress!" Emily said suddenly. Desperate to break the cloying silence but not ready to discuss the real issue.

"What?" the disbelief exploded from Sam. He was painfully thankful for the broken silence.

"Not the whole outfit! That was a little on the outrageous side, but the dress was pretty!"

"It was so yellow!" he was aghast.

"It was so happy!" she said.

When Dean had told her to pack appropriately for a hunt and not a road trip, she had done so effectively. She'd carried all the jeans she owned … four pairs, only her dark long sleeved tees … six, ten graphic tees, seven tanks - four white, three black, two sweat shirts - one charcoal and one black, and two grey sweat pants. Her three jackets were black, brown and olive green. Along the way, she'd bought two chiffon blouses for role playing, both were black. Discounting her pjs which were purple, blue and pink, She had no happy clothes. She missed happy clothes.

"How can a dress be happy?" Sam was curious.

"Well, not the dress really, but how it makes you feel. You know, there are clothes you wear that just seem to boost your spirit. They make you happy."

"It must be a girl thing then. Jess used to say something very similar."

Emily held her breath. Sam rarely spoke about his late girlfriend, Jessica. Emily knew the subject was still raw for him, the death too recent. She too rarely spoke about her parents, so she understood his reticence. She waited for him to reveal more, but it seemed that the throwaway comment was all he was going to say about his lost love.

"You do realise wearing such a dress would draw too much attention, right?" he said instead.

"What? You think people don't notice us when we come into a town?" Emily's voice was incredulous. "In a black muscle car no less! Besides, you and Dean are like five hundred miles tall! I highly doubt wearing a yellow dress would draw any more attention to us, than we already get."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, guess you're right. And by the way, you're rather unforgettable too!"

"It would be hard not to be when I hang with you two!" Emily smiled.

"No, I meant in your own right!" Sam said.

"Don't worry, I wasn't fishing for a compliment, Sam!" Emily laughed softly, "And I'm not trying to be reverse modest, or whatever, but with you and Dean, the attention I would have gotten is now spread out amongst the three of us, and not concentrated on just me, and aside from the monsters we hunt that try to kill us, and the few jerks we meet, that attention is mainly civil, is never really negative, nor overwhelming."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean." Sam was honestly puzzled.

"Okay, let me see if I can explain better. I've been this tall since I was 13!"

"Whoa! I'm glad I didn't know you then!"

"See?" Emily said without any judgement or bitterness, but Sam still coloured when he realised how insensitive his comment really was. "I hit my growth spurt at twelve and it seemed like I grew every single day, until about four months after my thirteenth birthday. Just imagine for a second how difficult it was for me then, between the other kid's comments, and my own puberty blues! I was asked nearly everyday whether my parents climbed a magic beanstalk to get me, since I was like this freaky giant, and everyone knew I was adopted! It did make me remarkably thick skinned though, so I'm perversely glad for it. I don't think I'd be as secure in myself now if I hadn't been the class giraffe then! Still, I hated the attention then and I still do. Being a tall girl isn't easy. I may not be the tallest girl out there, but I'm still pretty tall for a girl, and some people, guys especially, take that like a personal affront. Like I grew tall just to annoy them! Or to entertain them! But you know what, that's their problem not mine. Then there are those people who feel duty bound to point out how tall I am, as if I'm somehow not aware of it and need to be informed! Anyway, the comments no longer get to me really, but they do get old. The basketball one makes me want to gouge out eyes. However, when I'm with you guys, I don't get as many annoying comments as I used to. I guess it's because you're both taller than I am, so I almost look normal next to you! It's such a relief, you have no idea!"

Sam felt terrible. He'd never even considered that Emily might have self-image hangups. He commiserated with her. Because of Dean's protection, Sam who'd been so small, had only been occasionally bullied as a child. Still, those few ordeals had impacted enough for him to know how terrible it was to be picked on because of one's size or differences. He'd been lucky to have Dean, and to have outgrown his smallness. Emily hadn't had the protection of a sibling, and she still stood out because of her height. "Is that why you don't wear heels?"

Emily smiled. "I don't wear heels because I can't walk in them. Besides, I've always been partial to boots. When I was a kid, I'd wear nothing but hi-top chuck taylors! Didn't matter where we were going or how formal the occasion was. It didn't matter either that I only wore dresses, and tutus and fairy skirts!"

Sam laughed at the picture she painted. "I take it you weren't a fan of jeans even then!"

"Nope. In fact the only concession I made to pants was rompers. I did have a couple of jean overalls, but those stayed at the back of my closet unless I absolutely had to wear them. I was the girliest tomboy ever! It was my parents' idea to make me wear tights all the time, because I could pretty much be counted on to be hanging upside down or tumbling head over heels or sitting pretzel legged or even on some other kid's stomach, and it wouldn't do for my bloomers to be on display." she laughed fondly as she remembered her childhood.

Now it was Sam's turn to pause, hoping Emily would say more about her parents. She didn't.

"I wore Dean's hand-me-downs until I hit my growth spurt. I was sixteen. I topped Dean by an inch when I was seventeen and I bet he was hoping that would be it." Sam said softly. After a thoughtful pause, he added, "I don't think he'll ever forgive God for my three extra inches!"

Emily snorted with laughter.

"You should have seen how he used to lord his superior height over me when we were younger! When I topped his height, he stayed in denial for about a year, and I think he's currently still at the shock stage!" Sam grinned.

"Figures why he calls you gigantor!" Emily wiped away tears of laughter. "Anyone ever ask you whether your parents fed you magic gro?"she asked with a grin.

Sam exploded with laughter, only managing to wheeze out his answer. "No! So what did you say?"

"Oh, usually I just ignored them, but if I was in a bad mood, or if someone kept on prodding, I'd snap, say no, and insinuate that their parents had shrunk them!" Emily said with a twinkle in her eye.

"Classic!" Sam approved.

The silence returned, bringing their fears back with it. This time it was Sam who broke it.

"Why didn't you touch him?"

"What?"

"Before we left, you reached out to touch Dean, but you didn't. You've never been awkward about your tactility before. How come you are now?"

"Oh, you saw that?" she pressed her lips into a thin line. "I don't know. I … I don't want things to change between us because he's sick, but I know if I reach out to him now without his permission, he'll feel like I'm treating him like a child! Like I think he's weak!"

Sam certainly understood Emily's confusion. Dean was complex and he could be extremely sensitive about perceived patronization. And this being the first time Emily was seeing Dean vulnerable, she didn't know what to do.

"I know dealing with a sick Dean might look like a challenge, but it isn't really. Just be yourself. Treat him the way you always do. If you start acting out of character … doing things for him or saying things that you don't usually do or say, he's going to get mad and baulk. If he's being a jerk, tell him off, or ignore him just like you always do, don't defer to him just because he's not well. But most of all, don't cut out physical contact with him. I know he needs it as much as you do."

"You know what, he is so complicated!" Emily complained after considering Sam's words for a while.

Sam laughed. "This from someone who is all hugs and kissed, until they're sick or vulnerable? You and him are almost alike! Needing comforting doesn't make you weak, you know!"

"I ...," she began hotly, intending to deny her reluctance to being comforted, then she realised he was right. She tended to distance herself when she wasn't feeling a hundred percent, because she didn't want to be considered weak. "Guess you're right!" she finished ruefully.

More silence.

"Do you think we're doing enough?" she finally decided to broach the subject they had been expertly skirting around. "For Dean I mean?"

"I don't know!" Sam whispered. After what felt like forever, he added hesitantly, "I think we should call Bobby and maybe dad."

When it got sufficiently dark, they breached the insubstantial hospital security. It was really a matter of timing their entry and their exit precisely. They got Percocet, more Tylenol, antibiotics and other things to replenish their first aid box.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: For those following this story, sorry it has been so long since I last updated. I had a lot going on. Hope you're still with me.**

* * *

Dean was in the throes of a nightmare when Sam and Emily returned to the motel. Unlike them, he did not thrash about in his distress, but he was unusually twitchy. Still, they didn't think much of the spasms, putting them down to fatigued muscles, and they wouldn't have realised he was having a nightmare if he'd not spoken out loud. "Please … I'll do anything! Don't hurt them! Please, I beg you, please, take me instead! Then take me too!"

Sam and Emily paused in their respective tasks and turned to look at the bed where their brother who usually slept spread out like starfish, was curled into a tight ball. Emily dropped the sandwich she was making, Sam abandoned the inventory of the first aid box and both silently went over to their brother's side. They watched in distress as he clutched and released the bed linens and a tear rolled across the bridge of his nose and disappeared into the pillow. Unconsciously, both Sam and Emily reached out at the same time and their hands collided and increased in momentum, so instead of the intended light brushes, they accidentally jolted Dean awake.

He blinked a few times, before staring blearily at them. Then he uncurled himself and turned onto his back.

"How long have you guys been back?" he asked, not caring that he had woken up to find both of them standing by the side of his bed when it took only one of them to wake him up.

"We just got back." Sam answered.

"How did it go?"

"Not too bad, I guess." Emily didn't know whether he was asking about the occult shop research or the hospital haul.

"We got Percocet. It's this combination of Oxycodone and Tylenol." Sam explained. The shop hadn't yielded results yet, so he figured he could leave that out.

"Awesome!" Dean said with exaggerated joy, then continued in a normal voice, "Can I have the plain Tylenol?"

"Come on Dean, you promised!" Sam growled. Emily looked amazed. She hadn't known about the promise; it must have happened when she was in the car waiting for Sam.

"I know I did." Dean would have snapped if he had the strength, he didn't. "I'm not going back on my word. But can we hold off until morning?"

"Okay." Emily said quickly before Sam objected. With Dean, it was good to take the victories as they came. Sam sighed rather dramatically and shook out the plain Tylenol.

Then he and Emily returned to their earlier tasks. Dean propped himself up and accepted the sandwich even though it was evident he didn't really want it. Sam decided to have a quick shower before eating his. When he got out, he found Emily seated next to Dean, watching Kill Bill Volume 1. He joined them. As usual it was a tight fit, but that suited them just fine, especially Emily who was squashed in the middle.

"God, that part always gets me!" Dean sniggered. "Kaboom! cereal … breakfast with a bang! Complete with a gun!" he spoke in a mock ad voice.

"Where can we get it? Ours only comes with cheesy toys!" Emily quipped.

"We'd never buy it. Sam has an aversion to clowns. He'd probably cry if he saw the box!" Dean snorted.

Sam glared at him threateningly.

"I don't like clowns either!" Emily confessed.

"See?" Sam said to Dean.

"I don't fear them though!" she amended. "I just don't see how they're funny!"

"You two need help!" Dean shook his head.

They went back to watching the movie.

By the time it ended, Dean had fallen asleep. Sam and Emily clambered off his bed, gathered their volumes of books, and their laptops and relocated to Sam's bed.

"In Kill Bill, if you were that kid, Nikki, would you seek revenge?" Sam asked before they hunkered down to desperate research.

"It would depend on how much of the backstory I know. If I knew everything, what she'd done, I wouldn't bother. If I didn't, I probably would seek retribution. But Nikki was still pretty young, so I don't know! Would you?"

"I doubt it, but you can never really know what you'd do until you do!"

"What are you, Yoda?" Emily smiled.

"With better grammar!"

They each grabbed a book, and soon Dean's breathing, the music playing faintly off Emily's computer, and the occasionally turning pages were the only sounds breaking the silence. Two hours later, they had a mutual coffee break.

"I love coffee, but this smells like old shoes!" Sam complained.

"And tastes ten times worse!" Emily agreed with a yawn. However, it was the only way they could stay awake.

They stretched with audible creaks and pops, rubbed their gritty eyes and went back to reading. Another couple of hours passed unnoticed.

* * *

Dean came awake slowly and watched his siblings quietly for a few minutes. Emily was sitting cross legged in the middle of Sam's bed while Sam sat at the head, his long legs stretched out, his back against the headboard. The two laptops and a sea of books filled the bed between them. Both were engrossed in the books they were reading. Sam was worrying at his lower lip in concentration, while Emily was twirling a lock that had broken free from the braid. He smiled fondly, then his face fell when he thought about what he had to say to them. They were reading fast, and obviously not for pleasure. They were doing this for him. He was proud of their determination, and humbled by their devotion. He was also scared for them. He knew that they'd not even considered the possibility that he was going to die. He was worried about them, about how they would handle his death.

He knew they were both remarkably strong. Emily had survived the tragic deaths of her parents, who were her only family then, without any siblings to share the grief with. Dean shuddered at the thought of going it all alone, without the love and support of a brother. Emily had to have some kind of strength to still be here today. His death would be hard on her, but this time she would have Sam, though Dean admitted she might have to be the one to carry Sam through the pain, and not the other way round.

Sam was undeniably strong too; he had taken Jessica's death hard, but he'd not fallen apart. He'd channeled his grief into purpose, only weakening in his dreams. However, Dean doubted Sam would be able to hold it together this time. Their bond was so strong and unusual; they were more than brothers, they were each others' pillars, each other's anchors. Sam would definitely take Dean's death worse than Emily. Dean was justifiably worried about Sam self-destructing in his grief. Hopefully, having a sister to depend on, and who depended on him, would be enough to keep Sam from losing it, maybe Emily would give him a purpose.

Yes, his siblings were both going to need each other more than ever.

Dean took a deep breath to bolster himself. "Hey dorks!" he greeted.

Sam and Emily turned to look at him, smiling automatically at his voice and words. The smiles quickly slipped off their faces, because despite the teasing words, Dean had such a serious and sad expression on his face that they both almost recoiled. It took all their willpower not to. Dean never looked like this. Dean was never this serious, never this sad. He always had a wisecrack playing on his lips, a silly joke, a witty remark, and his eyes were either twinkling with mischief or smoldering with anger. This was new. This was scary. The foundations of Sam and Emily's world shook even before Dean spoke.

"I'm going to die!" he said matter-of-factly.

Those words, that tone, that casual acceptance felt like a physical blow to their stomachs and they both had to struggle not to be sick.

"Don't say that! Don't you dare!" Sam began with fire in his words, but they ended on a crack and a swallowed sob.

"Look, I'm not just saying it to upset you guys. But I can feel my life slipping away. I can feel pieces of myself breaking away and disappearing. The pain is eating at me. In the morning, we're going to try the perco-whatever and I don't know how it's going to affect me, so please, let me say this now, while I still can, okay?"

With tears shining in their eyes, but bravely held at bay, both Sam and Emily nodded.

"Hey, don't look at me like that! I'm not giving up, okay? I'm fighting! I'll try as hard as I possibly can to hold on, to live and stay with you dorks, after all, who else will teach you to be cool? But if ... if I don't, if I don't make it, I want... I want you two to keep on living. For me, and for yourselves. No drugs, or alcohol, or street racing, or any of that nonsense. I don't want either of you courting danger or seducing death! I want you both to go back to school and get your degrees and..."

"Dean..." Emily began.

"Ssh. Listen to me. I want you to make great lives for yourselves. Mimi, start a band or play solo, but whatever you decide, make music. And Sammy, be the most kick ass lawyer you can ever be. Lock away the bad guys. Don't become a sellout, okay? Both of you will be making the world a better place, without having to hunt. Let dad hunt. It's the only thing he knows how to do now. Heck, it's the only thing I know. But you two, you've got so much more to offer the world than killing monsters." He paused and swallowed before continuing, "Most importantly, I want you two to remain close. I don't want you to lose this relationship. Look out for each other … always. If I die, I want to go knowing that you're both going to be alright. I want to die in peace knowing that you'll go on and do all the things you want. I don't want to feel guilty for ruining your lives."

"You didn't ruin our lives!" Emily whispered.

"You make this hunters' life bearable; a life that by all accounts should be awful. You make it worth living. How are we supposed to go on without you in it?" Sam croaked.

"That's why I want you to leave it. When I'm gone, I want you to go live apple pie lives."

"This life will never let us go, you know that Dean. I tried it. It didn't work. And what about Rae? How can she go make music with demons after her?"

"That's what dad is for. Revenge for mum is his fight, saving Rae is his obligation."

"Revenge for mom is my fight too! And saving Rae is my obligation!" Sam said heatedly. Did Dean seriously think only he and dad were honour bound to family?

"Hey, saving myself is my fight, and revenge for my parents is mine alone, so I'm not walking away!" Emily said just as passionately.

"Guys …"

"No Dean! Besides, it doesn't matter what we're doing or how we're living, we'd still need you!" Emily pleaded. She couldn't imagine a life without both her brothers. Not a hunter's life and not an apple pie life.

"You'll still have each other."

"We're not giving up on you!" Sam declared. "And that is that!" His voice was hard and brooked no argument. His breathing was erratic, like he was either trying to reign in his temper or trying to keep himself from hyperventilating. Emily was relearning how to breathe. The physical ache in her chest was making it a skill in concentration and timing.

"Sammy, I'm trying, but this thing is kicking my ass!"

"Then kick back, Dean! You're the stubbornest most pigheaded person I know!" Emily declared with heartfelt heat.

"I think you're confusing me with yourself and Sammy!" Dean barked a short laugh. He felt Sammy was more stubborn than him, but for some reason, Emily thought otherwise. And she should know stubborn, she was the third stubbornest person he knew, after their dad and Sam!

Sam smiled grimly before speaking. "Well, you better fight this or I swear to God I'll kill you myself!"

Dean closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the green orbs, were blank and dull. He'd cleared all emotion from them. Both Sam and Emily's hearts thudded in their chests. Whatever this was, they were going to like it even less than the previous topic. This day or was it night, was officially up there on their individual lists of worst days.

"I want you guys to promise me something else," Dean whispered hoarsely.

"What?" Sam asked suspiciously. Emily shook her head, she didn't want to hear this.

"That until this is over, one way or the other, you won't call dad!"

"What?" this time Sam's question was an explosion of disbelief. Emily held her hands to her head. She was sure she was hearing things upside down or maybe Dean's words were getting lost in translation somehow.

"And Bobby!" he continued.

"But they can help!" Emily still couldn't believe what she was hearing. Why were her brothers so averse to accepting help?

"Dean …" Sam began.

"Just promise."

"How? How can you ask that of us?" Emily whispered.

"Please! Promise me, Sammy … Mimi! Promise, you won't call them!" he was pleading now.

For some reason, this really meant a lot to him. But how could they make that promise? What if they failed to save him on their own? How would they live with that? How would they face John?

Emily looked to Sam, tears swimming in her eyes. She'd follow his lead. He knew Dean best. He knew what to do.

Sam, his own eyes glassy with unshed tears, ducked his head. He couldn't bear to see the puzzled torment and the unquestioning trust in Emily's eyes, not when he was feeling so raw himself, so unsure. He gulped a huge breath, then after a tense moment, he raised his head back up. He looked at her, gritted his teeth, then turned to look at Dean. Oh God, no! "I promise!" his voice did not betray his distress.

Emily gasped and the tears finally broke free. Sam felt like he'd broken her heart.

"Mimi?" Dean whispered. He hated asking this of her, of them.

No, no, no! "I … I promise!" she sobbed.

"I'm sorry, guys!" Dean sighed torn between relief and sorrow. He closed his eyes. Unfortunately, he couldn't close his ears and Emily's quiet sobs tore at his heart. He couldn't explain to them why he didn't want John and Bobby to know. Couldn't explain that he felt like a failure for letting this happen to him, and he didn't want anyone else to know, at least not yet. It would be okay if they learnt about it after his demise. No one spoke ill of the dead after all. John wouldn't be able to blame him for messing up. Dean didn't want to spend what might be his last days, fighting insecurities that his father always managed to highlight. The most important reason however was that if he was going to die, the only people he wanted with him, already were. He felt terrible about the burden he was leaving them with. But they'd be okay. They had each other. They'd carry each other through it. Dammit, he wasn't going to cry.

He gingerly sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed. Sam had scooted next to Emily and was holding her as tightly as she was clinging to him. Her face was hidden in his chest and his face was buried in her hair. Neither noticed Dean until he threw his arms round both of them. His unprecedented gesture made Emily cry even more and Sam lifted his face momentarily to look at him, silent tears rolling down his face. Dean hadn't realised his brother was crying as well. His heart clenched.

"I'm so sorry guys!" he spoke with a clogged voice, placing his chin on Sam's now bowed head. Hunching over was at the best of times awkward and uncomfortable, but this time, it was excruciating, but he would ignore the pain in his body, for as long as his siblings needed him to hold them.

Sam had vowed to be stoic. When this was over, he'd hand the reins back to Dean. But Dean's words, his goodbye really, and that promise he'd held them to, coupled with Emily's sobs had undone his will. So he released his pain and fear as he simultaneously tried to comfort his sister who was probably as terrified and as hurt as he was.

Emily tried very hard not to cry, she hated how crying made her look and feel, hated how helpless it always made her; besides, her brother needed her now. But she was tired, overwhelmed, scared, angry, confused, and wired from too much bad coffee, too much irrelevant information and no sleep, and so she failed to keep the tears away. Then she tried to stop crying, and she might have been successful if Dean hadn't held her and Sam. Even now, even in his pain, he was trying to ease theirs. God, she loved him so much, she didn't want to lose him! So now she couldn't stop crying. She couldn't stop the sobs that hurt her chest and heart and boiled up her throat, and shook her shoulders. She knew Sam was crying as well, she could feel his tears soaking through her hair.

They slowly pulled themselves together. Emily's sobs became sniffs and died away and Sam's tears stopped falling. Dean stepped back to give them space when he felt both stiffen awkwardly. He sat back on his bed when Sam let Emily go. She wiped away the telltale wetness from her cheeks, then raised her head to look Sam searchingly in the eye. He smiled a thin grim smile, which she mirrored after a moment, then she got off the bed, looked for her pajamas and went to the bathroom. Dean wondered what that had been about, but he couldn't dare ask. The look on Sam's face was thunderous.

"You're such a bastard, you know that?" Sam said bitingly when the shower started.

"Sam, you've got to understand!"

"Understand what, Dean? When you won't explain anything!" Sam was collecting the books with jerky, angry moves. He dumped them on the table. Powered down the laptops and placed them more gently on the nightstands. Then he turned off the light.

"I don't know how!" Dean sighed in defeat. In the dim moonlight that breached the room, he could see his brother. He watched as Sam got into his bed. He could tell from the stiff way Sam held himself, that he was mad, and hurt. He got further proof when Sam turned his back on him and pulled up his covers. Dean sighed again, swung his feet onto his bed and got under his own covers.

Both listened as the shower turned off. Then a few minutes later, the door opened and Emily got out. Dean watched her as she stood there for a moment, silhouetted by the light of the bathroom. Then she turned, switched the light off, and padded softly to her bed. Thirty minutes later, he knew she was still awake, but he didn't think she knew he was awake too, so he was surprised when she called out his name softly.

"Yeah!"

She didn't speak immediately, and it was only after his prompting that she did. "Never mind, it's stupid!"

"The day you ever say anything stupid is the day I'll stop being cool!" he joked. He was gratified to hear her chuckle.

"Then I think I've been saying stupid things all my life!" she teased him.

"If it wasn't so late, and Sammy wasn't sleeping, I'd come over and kick your punk ass!" Dean groused good-naturedly.

He could hear the smile in her voice when she retorted. "Only if you'd be able to catch me, Gimpy!"

"Don't dare me, Pukey!"

She laughed then silence took over.

"So, what was that stupid thing you wanted to say?" Dean finally prompted.

"What would you say to your dad if you had the chance?"

Damn it all to hell in a green wagon covered with a bullesye! Never in a million years would Dean have expected that question. His stomach dropped, his bowels liquified. Jesus, why couldn't he have been given superficial siblings?

Emily was just about to say never mind, when Dean spoke. "I'd ask him not to blame you and Sammy. That you both did everything you could. I'd ask him not to blame himself either. For this, for mom and for everything in between." Dean went quiet and Emily thought he was done. Then out of the blue a quiet halting voice broke the silence. "I'd forgive him." Dean said surprising himself as well.

Before tonight, Dean had never admitted his father's shortcomings; he'd barely even noticed them. He'd defended and championed the man to Sam, and he'd endorsed and built him up for Emily who didn't really know him. Heck, he'd advocated John to Bobby, who was truthfully a better father to them than John would ever be. Until tonight, Dean had never realised that a small part of him resented his father. Resented him for a missed childhood, resented him for isolating them so completely, hence making Dean paranoid about forming relationships. He resented John for relationships and friendships that had never blossomed because they moved too often, resented him for talents that were never acknowledged and developed because they were not important to a hunter. John was the reason Dean had trust issues, why he was a control freak, why he was skeptical about love, why he kept his feelings bottled up. Yes, John had fucked him up pretty good.

"I'd forgive him!" Dean whispered again.

Tears silently soaked into three different pillows.


	12. Chapter 12

Sam brushed his fingertips lightly over Emily's nose, laughing at the way she wrinkled it and tried to brush away the irritant. She squinted her eyes open when she heard his chuckle.

"Rise and shine, Bo-Peep," he grinned. The Bo-peep was of course in reference to Emily's pajamas that had sheep prints all over.

"Ooh, you're the worst!" she groaned with a fond smile before uncurling and stretching. She turned to look at the alarm clock. It was almost nine. "Saaaaaam, why didn't you wake me up sooner?" she scrambled off the narrow cot.

"You had a late night … we all did. I figured you needed the sleep. Besides, you're staying in today and Dean is still asleep." Sam himself had been up for nearly two hours. He'd even gone out and brought breakfast. Now he was raring to go but he wanted to talk to at least one of his siblings before he left. He thought it was more prudent to wake Emily than to wake Dean, because he knew the pain had not let Dean sleep until a couple of hours before dawn.

Emily grabbed clothes from her bag and raced into the bathroom, emerging four minutes later, showered and dressed in lounge clothes, and looking unbelievably chipper. They sat down at the desk to have their breakfast and Sam immediately launched into instruction mode.

"Okay, so he can only have one tablet every six hours. It should be enough. I don't know how Percocet will affect him, but if it's anything like how he is on morphine, then you're in for a long day. He's like a kid; he'll go from manically bouncing off the walls to lethargic and sleepy and everything in between. The good thing is that he's amazingly suggestible in either state, but you've still got to watch him like a hawk, cos he's very sneaky! However, you've got to do the watching very discreetly, otherwise he'll bitch and tantrum and honestly it can get kind of annoying and you'll be sorely tempted to deck him. He's not allergic to morphine so he should be okay with this drug, but if he seems to be reacting badly, don't hesitate to call 911. We'd rather handle the issues that arise from that. So … umm yeah, that's it … oh, keep him hydrated, but no caffeine, otherwise, you'll regret it."

Emily cocked her head to the side as she assimilated the information. She was tempted to ask Sam to switch places because clearly he knew Dean and how to handle him a lot better than she did, but she knew he would never allow it. "Okay. I think I can handle this." she finally said.

"I'm sure you will. You're an Avis-Raines-Winchester after all!" Sam smiled.

Emily smiled back. She loved how her brothers accepted and respected her adopted parents' legacy. Sam and Dean acknowledged that Gray and Laura had played a major role in her life and would always be a part of her. Though they didn't dwell on her parentage, or let it become something to set her apart from them, they also never overlooked or discounted it. When all was said and done, she was their sister, and that was what mattered. They didn't care about other classifications.

"I'll call you every hour, to check in." Sam added. "Oh and while you were sleeping, I read a few reviews and it seems some people hallucinate vividly on this drug, so I returned the weapons bag to the car. There's salt and holy water in your bag and of course you've got your gun and your knives. Make sure you keep them away from him because I took his. You know how gung-ho he is. Don't want him shooting at the TV or slashing the shower curtain!"

They both chortled at the image and finished their breakfast in companionable silence.

Sam who had earlier been raring to go, left reluctantly ten minutes later, and only because Emily threw him out as he attempted to give the instructions again. It wasn't that he doubted Emily or her skills, no, he knew she was more than capable of watching out for Dean, and for herself, but he couldn't help feeling anxious about leaving his siblings, even though he was on a mission to save one of them.

* * *

Two hours later, Emily tilted her head back against the door, where she had gone to stand sentinel. She sighed and massaged her temples hoping to soothe the forming headache before it blossomed into something excruciating. She did not want to take any Tylenol, not when she was dealing with a hyper twenty-six year old man-child.

Dean had woken up with a moan only five minutes after Sam's departure. That he hadn't bothered to mute his distress was testament to how badly he was hurting. He'd growled at her when she'd tried to give him the Percocet then. His exact words, "Give a man a fucking break, okay! I need to use the bathroom!" She'd held back the angry retort that had formed on her lips and let him disappear into the bathroom. She'd sat impatiently on Sam's bed and waited. Dean had finally emerged about eleven minutes later. What he'd been doing in there, she'd never know, but it certainly wasn't having a shower or a shave. He looked hollowed out, the fuzzy two day beard adding shadows to his face. He'd sat gingerly on his own bed facing her, a frown marring his face and probably giving him a headache. "God, you're relentless! You're just like Sammy ... no I think you're worse!" he'd grouched. In answer Emily had thrust the pill and the tumbler of water at him, with a glare that should have poked holes in him. The look hadn't been enough to deter him from grouching some more, "What the hell is this one pill going to do for me when I've been taking four Tylenol?"

"For the love of Pythagoras, just take the DAMN thing!" Emily had finally snapped.

Dean had glowered at her but he'd taken the pill. "Hope you're happy now!" he'd growled at her, then he'd carefully laid down on his bed, trying not to jar his body too much. He'd stared at the ceiling, muttering about bloody dictatorial younger siblings, and in turn, she'd stared at him, trying to resist smacking him while praying the drug would work. Even though he was an annoying disagreeable cad sometimes, she loved him and she hated seeing him in pain. She didn't know what to expect, but she'd kind of been hoping that he'd swallow the medicine and magically become himself again. He'd finally gone quiet after a minute, having run out of insults to huff. The staring continued.

"Nearly eight minutes passed before he'd called her name, without turning his head to look at her.

She'd been so startled she'd nearly fallen off the bed. "Yes?" she'd answered cautiously.

"Oh!" he'd said in a clearly surprised voice.

"What? What do you mean oh?" she'd been bewildered.

"I was just checking that I wasn't dreaming or that the curse hadn't already killed me!" he'd answered wryly. "If you're here, then I can't be dead, right?"

Emily's eyes had widened. Shit, shit, shit! Was this one of the normal Dean-on-morphine reactions or one of the call-911-bad reactions Sam had warned about? She didn't remember him saying anything like this. "Umm … what are you talking about exactly?" she had finally asked, keeping her voice even, despite being terrified.

Dean had popped off his bed so fast, gotten dizzy as a result and had laid back down, all the while murmuring a litany of whoas! After the dizziness had passed, he'd risen again, slowly this time and declared with a huge Dean trademark grin that he was pain free. Emily had smiled back in elation.

Well, that had been two hours ago. Between that time and now, Emily had gone from elation, to amused indulgence, to fond irritation, to raging annoyance and finally to dull resignation.

Dean was a whirlwind. His usual energy levels were upped a million times, and it was not an energy suited to being indoors, in a motel, where there weren't many activities to distract him. But they couldn't go out, as Emily didn't think she'd be able to keep up with him, and she didn't know when the promised sleepy child stage would kick in and what it would be like. Besides, Sam had the car. On the plus side, Dean really was suggestible like Sam had said, but unfortunately, Emily's suggestions didn't hold his attention for long periods. Daytime TV bored him, books held no charm for him, and the few games on her computer got frustrating and he ditched them. He was mad to learn that the weapons had been returned to the car and Emily wouldn't give him her gun for target practice or her knives to use as darts. She wouldn't even let him out of the room. So he'd rearranged all the furniture in the room starting with pushing his and Sam's bed together because apparently he had always wanted a double queen bed.

Watching him blearily from the door, Emily thought that aside from his being pain free, the only other positive outcome of the medication, as far as she was concerned, was that his appetite was back. He'd eaten nearly all the snacks they had in the room, and that was after wolfing down his breakfast and throwing an epic I'm-a-grown-man-I-can-drink-whatever-I-want tantrum after she'd stopped him from drinking coffee. She'd told him he wasn't exactly acting like the grown man he claimed to be and he'd sulked petulantly and tried silent treatment on her. For Emily who was usually disconcerted by silent treatment, those ten minutes of silence had been pure bliss! Sam had called at about that time and laughed so hard at Emily's description of Dean, that he'd nearly chocked. He was apparently at a spa waiting for Mabel's mom. His discomfort at being at a spa was palpable even through the phone line, and his impatience to get information even more so. Emily had then handed the phone to Dean so Sam could speak to him. They had spoken for only a short minute in which time Dean demanded Sam return his baby immediately. Emily had smiled. Even when he was as high as a kite, Dean still remembered his car.

Of course after the phone call, there was no hope that Dean would return to silent treatment mode. Instead, he had decided to listen to and sing all his favourite songs loudly. Right now he was bellowing Metallica's 'For Whom The Bell Tolls' and Emily had a headache forming. Finally she thought of a possible solution that would suit both of them. If she could get him into the bathroom, it would be a win-win situation. He could sing to his heart's content while getting clean, and she could have a break and maybe not kill him.

"Hey Rip Van Winkle, how about a shower and a shave?" she yelled to be heard above the music and singing. She knew better than to request, or order, as that was likely to be met with resentment and obstinate refusal. It was best to put a suggestion out there and wait to see how he responded to it.

His hand snaked to his chin to feel the fuzz, then he grinned at her; a sweet, lopsided, slightly sheepish grin that made Emily smile and catapulted her from resigned acceptance back to fond indulgence territory. Gosh, she wished she'd known him as a kid. He must have been absolutely adorable.

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea, Mary Poppins!"

"I'm not a magical nanny!" Emily objected good naturedly. She couldn't believe how agreeable he was. Damn, why hadn't she thought of this before?

"And I'm not a lazy ass old man!" Dean announced as he flounced dramatically to the bathroom leaving Emily in stitches. She stopped the music playing on her laptop and sighed in relief. A few minutes passed and then he shouted. "How much of this stuff do I put in?"

"Which stuff?" she bellowed back. She really hoped that the rooms next to theirs were not occupied and if they were, she hoped the occupants were hearing impaired or outright deaf.

"These fluffy bath things of yours!"

Emily smiled before replying. "Well, if you're decent in there, I can come run the bath for you."

"Yeah, I'm still dressed. I was just shaving!"

"Okay," she agreed and trotted to the bathroom.

He put down the toilet lid and sat on it watching her as she poured the bath products and run the water. "What is all this stuff anyway?" he finally asked.

She pointed out each product but didn't tell him about their intended purpose or he would change his mind about the bath. The most important constituent was the Epsom salts that would prevent pruning, relieve muscle aches and work as a muscle relaxer. Also, the salts were supposedly a natural emollient for the skin. In addition to the salts, there was lavender oil that apparently had sleep inducing qualities, eucalyptus and rosemary oils which were pain relievers and finally the coconut frosting bubble bath that doubled as shower gel and shampoo, whose only duty was to smell nice and make foam.

"It smells nice." he admitted.

Emily turned off the water, cuffed Dean around his head, stepped out of the room and closed the door behind herself.

Dean stepped cautiously into the bath, then slid down like he'd seen in countless movies. He groaned with surprised pleasure and relief as the warm water and bubbles enfolded him. It really did feel amazingly good. Outside the door Emily smiled at his non-verbal approval and walked to her bed. A few minutes later, Dean took up his singing again.

Sam called, his second call for the day. He didn't stay on the line for long. Emily told him she and Dean were fine, that he was in the bathroom and appeared to be winding down if the less boisterous volume of his voice was any indication.

When she got off the phone, she began to read Sam's copy of 'Dying of the Light' by George R.R. Martin. The copy was old and frayed, testament to how much love Sam had for it. She soon found out why and she got so caught up in the world on the pages, that it was thirty minutes before she noticed the quiet. "Hey, Dean?"

"Mmmm?"

"Don't fall asleep in there!"

"Okay!" he said in a grumbly voice. Emily smiled. She had known he would come around to the idea of the bath.

* * *

Meanwhile, when Sam had gotten to the shop, it was still closed but Mabel arrived and opened it barely five minutes later. Her recent outfit, as colourful as the one she'd worn previously. He smiled thinking how much Emily would have enjoyed seeing it. Mabel had been a little discomfited to realise that Sam was alone, but he'd explained, saying Emily had been feeling under the weather, but had insisted he finish the research because they were not going to be in the town for much longer. Of course he'd also had to employ the puppy eyes. Mabel had then cheerfully informed him that her mother was having a few hours at a spa and she was expecting him there. She gave him directions. He groaned at the idea of going to a spa. Dean was going to have a field day when he found out. The teasing was going to be epic.

"I know I'm imposing, but it would be a huge favour to me if you could drive her back here for me. It'll save me from having to close up the shop to go pick her up." Mabel asked.

Sam couldn't say no, even though time was not a luxury he had; it wasn't a luxury his brother had. Sam also hoped this whole line of investigation was not a waste of time. He drove to the spa and asked for Marilyn. She'd just started a fifty minute vitamin A facial, whatever that was, which was going to be followed by an eighty minute hot stone massage, all in a cocoon of music and aromatherapy. Sam had to consciously keep himself from snorting in derision. When Marilyn had been informed of his presence, she had decided to take a break between her two scheduled activities to talk to him. It was surprisingly considerate of her and Sam felt even more justified about having agreed to drive her back to the shop after her session. As he waited, he called Emily and was not surprised to hear Dean was being a handful. He'd laughed heartily at her recounting of Dean's exploits.

Marilyn was as different from her daughter as two people could be. Not just in appearance but in temperament too. She was soft spoken where Mabel was effervescent, toned down and quiet while Mabel was bubbly!

"My daughter said there'd be two of you!" she said suspiciously. Sam span the same spiel he had used with Mabel and was relieved when Marilyn bought it too. Still, she did not really warm up to him until he asked about the curse. Then a twinkle appeared in her eyes, proving her kinship with Mabel more than anything else would have.

"You know, it's funny, about two weeks ago this academic looking man came in asking a very similar question! He struck me as a teacher. Maybe he is your teacher!"

Sam grinned at the woman and fibbed good-naturedly, "I highly doubt that. Professor Wesson is ancient and he doesn't get around much. He loves the comfort of his office and his house way too much! He'd probably marry them if he could!"

Marilyn laughed in delight, already at ease with Sam. "Well, that answers that. His name was Foley and he wasn't that old. At most he was twice your age … which I guess you'd think is ancient! Oh to be young!" she said dramatically, providing more evidence to her kinship with Mabel.

His curiosity piqued, Sam debated whether to ask about the man or about the curse. He settled for asking about the curse and then with the information he'd see whether the man's identity was relevant or not. Besides, asking about the man now might make Marilyn suspicious and reserved.

Marilyn was an enthusiastic trove of information and Sam was glad he'd carried a notebook. He had only brought it along as part of his cover story, but it was now filling up with interesting information. Sam was amazed by how much the woman knew off the top of her head.

There were only four curses as far as she was concerned that didn't require symbols or effigies or images. All very ancient; a Romany curse, a Celtic curse, an Abyssinian curse and a Māori one called the Revenge curse of the Lynx. All four curses required the user to have some psychic capabilities. This information threw Sam for a loop but he did not show it.

"So what kind of symptoms would a victim have?" he asked.

Marilyn launched into yet another detailed account of the different symptoms for each curse. She rarely got a captive audience like she had in this earnest young man before her, so when her masseuse came looking for her, she asked for another half hour. Sam used the short distraction to quickly call Emily and check in, smiling when he hang up.

"Is she okay?" Marilyn asked with concern and for a surreal moment, Sam felt his lack of a mother with a pang that left him breathless. He nodded in answer to Marilyn's question. "Sure?" Marilyn insisted, having seen the look in Sam's eyes just then.

"Yeah, she's okay. She had some soup and she's watching TV in bed," he lied. Then he prompted, "So you were talking about the symptoms of the Katanga curse."

The Katanga curse was the Celtic one. Marilyn continued from where she had stopped and Sam listened, but it is only when Marilyn got to the Revenge of the Lynx curse that he really paid attention. This curse's victims rarely represented with the same symptoms because the curser could apparently customise the curse each time it was used. However, one thing was always constant, the curse's effects could only last six days and on the seventh day, the cursed person died. Even though he and his siblings had reached the same conclusion before, the information still made Sam's heart beat erratically and he almost forgot how to breathe. Today was Dean's sixth day.

"Can the curse be reversed?"

"Well, the curser can take it back, or it can be bounced back to them if you know what you are doing and how exactly the curse was customised. I've also heard it said that if the curser dies, the curse dies with them."

Great, that was helpful. He couldn't kill a person, obviously, and of course he didn't know how the curse had been customised, heck, he didn't even know why Dean had been targeted, so options three and two were out of the question. So he somehow had to find the person who had cursed his brother and somehow convince them to take the curse back. Good times!

Is there any way of knowing who the curser is or how to find them?" Sam asked.

"Of course! It's a very basic spell!"

"Spell?" Sam asked. This just got better and better! Spells were more or less a gray area with all four Winchesters, and all four of them leaned more towards the treat-all-spells-as-suspicious side of the trust spectrum. However, if this was the only way to find the curser, he was going to do it … well, unless of course it compromised his most sacred principles. He really hoped it didn't, he had a brother to save after all!

"Yeah. There's nothing to it. It's more of an incantation actually."

Sam wrote down everything Marilyn said about the location spell, asking for clarification and further explanations, to the point that Marilyn started eyeing him suspiciously. Like she'd said, there wasn't much to it, he needed just a couple of ingredients; angelica which he learnt from her was also called Holy Ghost, cayenne powder and crossroad dust, all of which he was sure had been left over from the poltergeist hunt, and a sample from Dean, anything from a nail clipping to a hair strand. He had to burn them together and add the mixture to a bottle of ink which he could pick up from any stationery shop. As he blended the mixture with the ink, he had to say a few words in Māori, words he had to pronounce precisely or the spell wouldn't work. Then he'd simply pour some of the ink on a plain piece of paper. At this point, he asked Marilyn what would happen, and she'd said the location would be printed on the paper. His need to snort in derision was even stronger now. Instead, he graciously thanked Marilyn, told her he would wait till she finished with her massage and whatever else she had scheduled and drive her to her shop and daughter. She smiled her thanks, called him a delightful young man, and went off to get her massage.

When he was alone, Sam sighed and run his hands through his hair in distress. Truthfully, he thought the location spell was nonsensical, and he could not fathom how it would possibly work, but he really was out of options. They all were. He had only gotten one name, Foley, but even if he had gotten both, locating the man wouldn't be easy especially if he was a visitor like they were. Knowing he was the only praying member of his family, Sam prayed with everything he had that this would work, that he could save Dean.

* * *

Dean emerged from the bathroom flushed and rosy from the bath. He glared accusatorially at the bag of milk chocolate M&Ms Emily was enjoying before dropping beside her on the now double queen bed. He propped his head against the headboard, and fiddled with the remote.

"Want some?" Emily asked him pushing the candy bag towards him. He growled and shook his head. "What about these?" With a flourish, she drew a bag of peanut M&Ms from beneath her pillow and dropped it on his chest.

"Ooh! Awesome!" he grinned and tore into the bag. "You're my favourite sister!"

Emily didn't like peanut M&Ms, and Dean scorned milk chocolate ones. Each one was adamant their taste was superior. Sam thought they were both idiots, but then again, his sweet tooth was not exactly developed.

"I'm the only sister you've got. At least as far as we know!" Emily laughed.

"Well, you're my favourite girl!" Dean amended.

Emily, snickered sarcastically, "I feel so special!"

"You are." he said softly, in a duh-isn't-it-obvious tone, without turning away from the TV.

Emily felt her heart expand with affection for her gruff, rough around the edges brother who didn't know how to articulate his feelings but somehow managed to say the right thing every now and then. Knowing anything she said would make him feel self-conscious, she smiled and returned to her novel.

"You know I've only ever really loved three women?" Dean mused, suddenly breaking the comfortable silence that had grown. Emily startled at the unexpected sound but stayed silent. She wanted to see where this was going to go. "My mom, you and … Cassie." he continued.

Now Emily was dying to know who Cassie was, but she held her tongue, biting down on her lower lip to keep from speaking. Dean was skittish about sharing, and while she figured it was the drugs that were making him this forthcoming, she still realised that prompting him would most likely make him withdraw. Unfortunately, her restraint didn't seem to help matters because, Dean stayed silent, seemingly lost in thought, and once again, the silence stretched on. Just as Emily was sure she was going to die of frustration, Dean laughed.

"I know you're dying to know who Cassie is!"

"You have no idea!" Emily admitted with a sheepish laugh.

Dean smiled at his sister's rueful candor. God, he really loved this kid! It was amazing that up until a year ago, his brother had been his only friend, and before meeting Emily, he had truthfully never considered the possibility of having a friend who wasn't Sam. Even more amazing, he had never conceived of a great, honest, completely platonic relationship existing between him and a girl. True she was his sister, but he was sure she and him would still have been good friends even if they hadn't been siblings. In his opinion, she was brilliant, funny and gregarious, boisterous and spirited and she was unpretentious and refreshingly candid. Also, she called him out when he was out of line and challenged him when she needed to, deferring only when necessary. She was sweet and kind without being fake or cloying and she was strong without being hardened. Also, she rarely complained and had fitted into their life like she'd always been there. Of course, like Sam did, she sometimes drove him raving mad, but he would never change her for anything.

Just as he had never considered having a platonic relationship, he certainly hadn't considered having a romantic one. His feelings for Cassie had actually taken him by surprise when he'd finally got the courage to acknowledge them. Cassie was the first girl, girl being the operative word of course, he had ever loved and she would probably be the only girl he would ever love romantically. She was beautiful, with a body that was sculpted perfection and a sultry voice that drove him to distraction. Yet, these were not what had drawn him to her. No, he had loved her fire, her vivacity, her refusal to back down no matter what the odds were. He had loved her intelligence and her no nonsense approach to things. God, he still loved her even though he really wanted to hate her or forget her. Her betrayal had cut him deep. He took a breath and spoke. "Cassie was a girlfriend I once had, but it didn't work out. She cut her losses and run when I told her what the family business really was."

"You told her?" Emily's vow not to interrupt was forgotten as she exhaled her disbelief.

"Yes, and dare I say, it was a mistake."

Emily heard the sad wistfulness in Dean's voice. He really must have loved this girl, probably still did. She must have been one hell of a girl. Silence settled around them again. After a while, she noticed his breathing slow down and even out and she thought he had fallen asleep. It turned out he hadn't, but when he spoke, he did sound very sleepy, like he was almost sleep talking.

"Mom was perfect! But maybe that's because she wasn't around long enough for me to learn otherwise … so she'll forever be perfect in my eyes." He was quiet for a moment then he sighed, "Even now, after all these years, I still miss her."

"She was your mother. Of course you miss her."

"Well, sometimes I think I miss the idea of her more than I miss her, because I barely remember her."

"Come on, of course you miss the idea of having a mother. It's only natural, but I'm sure you miss her."

"You think so? I don't remember a lot about her you know, only a few random things. Like how she smelt … like cookies and something else … vanilla maybe, I'm not sure. And how she'd give me this tomato and rice soup when I got sick, I remember I hated it, but she'd give me an extra special cuddle if I finished it, so I did, because she gave the best extra special hugs. It's funny, now that I miss that soup!" he smiled loopily. "Mom loved the sun, even though it gave her freckles, only she called them sun drops not freckles! And she was obsessed with the Beatles, she used to sing me 'Hey Jude' of all things to put me to sleep!" he laughed sleepily and fell silent.

Just when Emily thought he had fallen asleep for sure this time, he continued, "I also remember when she was pregnant with Sammy. Dad thought he was going to be a girl, but me and her, we knew for sure that he was going to be a boy, and we were right. She let me carry him that day in the hospital. He smelt like a mixture of baby powder and her. I remember thinking that was how all babies smelt. You know, Sammy doesn't remember her … but it's funny, he dated a girl who could have been her!" he mused softly.

Emily had seen a couple of pictures of Mary and a picture of Jessica, and she realised with a start that Dean was right. While Mary had green eyes that Dean had inherited and Jessica was blue eyed, both women had been statuesque, and blond. The pictures had also captured the intelligence and strength that shone out of their eyes and it was hard to miss the gentleness and kindness of their smiles. Yes, a forgotten part of Sam, a part that had been too young to register much, had still remembered his mother somehow. Emily instinctively knew that Dean had never shared his realisation with his brother. Always the protector.

He was still speaking. Still remembering a past he could never really forget, no matter how he tried. "Dad was different too. He was so easy going and carefree. He used to make mum laugh. And for a long time, the only monster I knew was him as the Tickle Monster. He used to play catch with me, and he'd tell the best bedtime stories. He never did any of that after that night. He changed. Became so driven and withdrawn … he became a soldier again, treated us like draftees and this is the only father Sammy has ever known. I know he doesn't think so, but I feel Sammy is the lucky one. He doesn't have these memories to mock him! He doesn't … he doesn't even remember that night! Of course he doesn't. He was just a baby! He was so heavy, and the steps were endless, but I got him out. I did that. Dad was meant to get mum out. He didn't!"

Despite her best intentions to remain stoic, tears fell unheeded down Emily's face as she thought of that four year old whose life was changed forever in one night. He'd technically lost both his parents in that fire. He'd lost his home, his security, and his childhood. Silently, she cried for that little boy. That little boy who had clung to his baby brother not only to protect him, but to comfort himself as well. She understood better now, why Dean held on so tight to Sam. Sam had never been just a responsibility, he'd been Dean's reason for going on, his anchor in an unstable world, just like he was Sam's anchor. She cried for her scarred brother. Forever detached from a world he bled to save, because he was afraid of forming relationships. Afraid to love because he was afraid to lose. This life had directly taken his mother from him and it had indirectly taken his father and his girlfriend too. So aside from his brother and father, he had stayed aloof to protect himself. She cried because despite this, he had let her in, he'd opened himself up to love her, and be her brother, and had since then lived with the dread that something would happen to her and it would be his fault. She also knew he lived in fear that something would happen to Sam, that he wouldn't be able to protect him. He constantly worried about their father too. She felt for him. How did he even function with all that? His burden was unbelievable and yet he would never relinquish it. Not completely anyway.

She cried for Sam who had never even had the chance to know his mother, or to know a lighthearted father that was not driven by revenge or fear. She cried for his failed attempt to rise above his deficient childhood, an attempt that had resulted in the death of the one person he had chosen to love in that new life he had tried to curve out for himself.

She cried for John, a father lost. Did he blame himself for not getting his wife out? He probably did. It was a Winchester trait after all. One he'd definitely passed on to his children. Was he haunted by Mary's face? Had she screamed? Had she begged him to help her? To save her? Was his obsession to hunt based on vengeance or atonement? Or even both? Did he see the woman he had lost in his sons' faces? Emily acknowledged how hard it must have been for him. She cried for his loss; loss of his beloved wife, and loss of his sons' faith. She knew Sam and Dean loved their father, but truthfully, it had been years since either of them had needed him or relied on him more than they needed or relied on each other.

"Mimi?"

"Yeah?" It was a feat that her distress did not manifest in her voice.

"You know I love you, right?"

After all the revelations of the day, Emily was not thrown by this. Taking it in stride she answered feelingly, "Of course I do! And I love you too."

"I know. You've told me a couple of times. I wanted you to know how I felt, just in case you didn't."

"Hey, I was never in doubt!" Emily said truthfully. Not even that time when they'd not been talking.

"Good!" and with that, he slid down off the headboard until his head hit the pillow, then he flipped onto his stomach, sprawled out, hooked one arm under the pillow and was asleep in under a minute.

Emily wondered how much he would remember when he woke and what his reaction would be if he did. He'd probably be mortified. She took his unfinished bag of M&Ms and put it on the nightstand. She smiled indulgently down at him, sappily happy to see him sleeping in one of the normal Dean positions and not the foetal position he had adopted because of the pain. Then because she could get away with it this time, she bent and kissed him on the temple. The subconscious upturning of his lips was reward enough for her.

* * *

**A/N: Mostly fluff but it begged to be written. **


	13. Chapter 13

Sam felt decidedly old-fashioned and ridiculous picking up a bottle of ink at a stationery shop. He was glad he had stopped at this particular shop because there was a decent eatery next door and a video shop two stores away. He grabbed lunch for his siblings and talked his way into renting four movies, despite not having a card. Then he drove to the motel.

With Dean asleep, Emily had tried to go back to her book but she was too wired to concentrate so she instead decided to clean the bathroom. Dean hadn't really left it all that dirty but the mindless scrubbing was amazingly cathartic.

In the motel parking lot Sam grabbed the bags, then popped the trunk and retrieved the ingredients for the spell, before crossing over to the room they'd rented. He tried the door and found it locked. He knocked lightly.

The knock at the door startled Emily. She quickly dried her hands, flicked the safety off her gun and hustled to the door.

"Who is it?"

"It's me." Sam answered and before Emily could demand the password, he added quickly and with a long suffering sigh, "No Guru, No Method, No Teacher."

Emily resisting the urge to snicker at his tone, unlocked and opened the door. She beamed up at him but still whispered Christo. When nothing happened, she flicked the safety of her gun back on and stepped aside for him to get in. Then she locked the door behind them.

Looking into his sister's mischievously twinkling eyes, Sam's mood immediately lightened. "You chose a really ridiculous password!" he grouched with good-humor.

"Hey, that album is epic!" Emily protested good-naturedly.

"Yeah, its title is ridiculous as a password!" He stopped short when he saw Dean sleeping. "Whoa! How did you get him to sleep after such a short time? Usually he can go for hours before crashing!"

Emily shrugged and said modestly. "I guess the bath oils weren't falsely hyped." And since patience was not a virtue she possessed, she asked, "So what did you find out?"

Sam dropped the bags on the bench, and returned with the black boxes he'd gotten from the trunk of the car and placed them on the table. "Well, from the symptoms and from what Marilyn told me, I believe he was hit with the Curse of the Lynx."

"So how do we get rid of it?" she asked, eyeing the boxes. Right now, she did not need to know the details of the curse, and besides, if she knew Sam as well as she thought she did, she was sure he had taken notes.

"That's the tricky part. We have to find the person who cursed him ..."

"Oookaaay," she asked cautiously.

"And get him to take it back!" Sam finished.

"Crap!"

"You said it."

"So how do we find who cursed him?"

"That's why I'm here. I need a sample from Dean to carry out a location spell."

"Say what?"

"You heard that right. I need to carry out a spell to find the curser."

"Oh, so that's what the spices are for!" she said about the contents of the boxes.

Sam smiled at the word spices and rummaged in the bags until he found the ink. "There's stock to go with those!" he quipped. She laughed in appreciation.

As Sam put the dry ingredients in the crucible, he quickly told Emily about the location spell.

"And then what will happen?" Emily asked, unknowingly echoing the same question Sam had asked Marilyn.

"Then the location will be written on the paper." Sam repeated Marilyn's words though he failed to sound as matter-of-fact about it the way she had. Emily heard the skepticism in his voice and decided not to voice her own utter disbelief. Sam went over to the now gigantic bed, snickering softly when he remembered Emily's account of Dean's earlier exploits. With an unreadable look on his face, he gazed down at his brother for a short moment before gently snipping a couple of strands of hair. He felt like a world class jerk, even though Dean, despite being unbelievably conceited, was surprisingly not vain about his hair and wouldn't even notice the missing strands since they really were inconsequential. Dean didn't even stir, for which Sam was glad. He wondered how Dean would have taken the news of having to carry out a spell, even one as harmless as the one they were going to perform. His brother was the biggest sceptic after their father.

The hair joined the contents of the crucible, the crucible was heated and when it cooled, the ink was added. Emily held her breath as Sam read the incantation he had written down. He spoke carefully so as not to mispronounce anything. He didn't want to summon some evil entity because he couldn't enunciate a few words properly. Dean would kill them if that happened!

When Sam finished speaking, they both looked at the inky contents of the crucible with underwhelmed disappointment. They had expected, at the very least, a fizzle or hiss but there was absolutely nothing.

With a sigh Emily spoke. "Okay, so now do we just pour it all on the paper?"

"Um …" Sam began uncertainly. He looked around the room for inspiration. "Go get a table spoon!"

Sam spooned up some of the ink and poured it on the paper. They watched with bated breath and eyebrows lifted in skepticism. The ink rolled across the paper like they had expected it to, but then the most amazing thing happened. It started to separate into smaller droplets which began to arrange themselves on the paper, the patterns not yet recognizable but very possibly words. Both Sam's and Emily's mouths fell open. Sam spooned more ink on the paper and distinct words began to form from the arranged droplets.

"Is this for real or are we having some kind of weird synchronised Harry Potter hallucination?" Emily whispered in awe. She didn't want to make a loud sound in the room.

"Well, if it's a hallucination, I approve of it!" Sam whispered back as he grabbed a pen and began to write the words as they formed, worried they might disappear as strangely as they'd appeared. Soon he had a full address written down. In the meantime Emily had raced to the impala and grabbed the map. They spread it out on the table and quickly located the corresponding street; finding the exact address would be easy for Sam if he found the street. Folding the map back up, they emptied the crucible, washed it out and returned it, the map and the black boxes to the car. Sam made a mental note to fill up on crossroad dirt and angelica.

He slammed the trunk shut and walked to the front of the car. "Right! See you two soon!" he called out.

Emily who was already half way across the short distance between the room and the parking spot turned back and was shocked to see Sam get into the front seat. 'What the hell, Sam? You're going without us?" she spoke through gritted teeth to keep herself from yelling, and she stalked back to the car and stood beside the window glaring at him. It had not even crossed her mind that Sam might consider going alone. She'd thought that now he'd gotten the location, they'd wake Dean up and prepare to put an end to this whole mess together.

"Of course I'm going by myself. You can't come. Dean is not well!" he said like it was obvious. He was unfazed by her glare. Another person would have been cowed.

Emily was having none of that. No way. "The Percocet worked. He's not in pain any more!" she argued.

"But he is loonier than a drunk Tasmanian devil," Sam pointed out. "and when he's not, he's sleepier than a drugged koala!"

On another day, Emily would have made a comment about Sam's silly Australian similes, but right now she had no patience for humour. "But you can't go without back up. I thought that's one of the Winchester rules?" she was not opposed to using such a low tactic. Unfortunately, it didn't work. Winchesters were nothing if not stubborn and Sam was the probably the stubbornest of them all. Coupled with his lawyer logic, he could find a loophole in anything, including the famous Winchester rules. He was usually good about following them, and enforcing them, but when he needed to, he could and would find ways round them.

"Well, sometimes there are exceptions to the rules. I'll be fine. This guy whoever he is, is just a person, and he is a coward who curses people from a distance. Besides, the curse's effect is not instantaneous. I'm sure I can handle him."

Emily still looked unsure and doubtful. Sam took in the look and sighed. "Look Rae, this is really no more different from two days ago when you guys went to the college and I went to the sociologist firm alone."

"That was just research!" Emily objected.

"I know! And I understand that for most hunts, the research is pretty uneventful but the final hunt is full on and dangerous. However, on this one, the difference between the research and the hunt isn't that big. The actual hunt won't be a cakewalk, but I doubt it'll be dangerous; there's still a lot of daylight left, the big bad is just a man and the curse is only fatal after seven days."

"But …"

"I'll be fine, Rae. Don't worry." Sam interrupted.

"Well, you'd better be or Dean will kick both our asses!" she conceded with a forced grin, the worry was still evident.

"I'd like to see him try to take on both of us!" Sam smiled and turned the key.

Emily stepped away and watched him drive off, then she sighed and turned to walk to the room. Dean was just going to love this; no matter how positively everything turned out, she knew he was going to skin both of them alive. He was ridiculously and alarmingly protective. Of course she understood why he was the way he was, but that didn't change the fact that he was maniacal and irrational when it came to his family and it could be rather grating.

She slipped quietly back into the room. Dean still hadn't moved. She wondered whether she should be worried about this or not. Guess she should have asked Sam before he left. In fact, she probably shouldn't have let Sam leave. At this thought, she barked a cynical laugh; as if she could have stopped him! She was becoming delusional if she thought she had that power!

Standing by the side of the bed, she peered carefully at Dean. She held her breath and crossed her fingers because she knew that if he woke up and found her looking at him like that, he'd freak out, and not because he'd be startled, which obviously he would, but because he'd feel vulnerable and he hated feeling vulnerable. She wouldn't blame him either. After all, she too hated it. He seemed okay but she was not ashamed to admit, if only to herself, that she needed body contact for reassurance and so once again she sat on the bed next to him, this time reading the notes Sam had written.

She was hungry, but the thought of eating alone was not really appealing, and besides, the anxiety about both her brothers had lodged in her throat and would probably not allow her to swallow. She'd wait for Dean to wake up, then they'd eat together. And knowing Dean and his insecurities, they'd probably go after Sam.

Dean woke up nearly twenty minutes after Sam's departure. "Hey," he greeted Emily groggily and after she greeted him back, he asked, "Sammy not back yet?"

"He came by, brought us lunch." Emily told part of the reason.

"Awesome!" he cheered and jumped off the bed and into the bathroom announcing as he moved, "Gotta take a leak!"

"Aarggh Dean, TMI!" Emily protested with a grimace.

"At least I didn't say …" he began through the door he was pulling closed.

Emily who was getting off the bed as well put her hands to her ears. "Bleurgh, don't even!" she yelled.

As she warmed the food, she could hear him chortling behind the closed door and it brought a smile to her face. He got such an absurd kick eliciting grossed out reactions from his siblings and for the most part, they really were not grossed out, but they played along because it made him happy.

* * *

Dean ate his burger in four appreciative bites and practically inhaled his fries. Then he began to steal fries off Emily's plate. She wasn't a slacker when it came to eating, but no one could beat Dean's eating speeds.

"Thought Sam would be back by now!" Dean mused, "Where did he go anyway?" When he'd woken up and found Sam had been by, Dean had simply figured his brother had just stepped out, maybe to go get something from the store, or to wash his clothes at the Laundromat, seeing as he was OCD about cleanliness, or maybe he'd gone to hustle pool with early bar goers! It wasn't really Sam's favourite pastime, but stranger things had happened before.

Emily grimaced at the question. She had known it was coming. In fact, she was shocked it had taken this long for him to ask. She couldn't lie, not to her brothers at least. She might maybe withhold information, but she would never outright lie. So she told Dean everything that had transpired, leaving out impertinent information like the Australia wildlife comparison statements that had been made about him. She did not think he would appreciate those, not with his older-brother pressure clearly rising. Also, she did not tell him that she had asked Sam to stay. Instead, she made him and herself equal partners in the decisions that had been made. Better to share Dean's fury than to have it directed at only one of them.

There was a beat of silence after she was done then Dean spoke in a deadly voice. "Get dressed, we're going after him. Then the three of us are going to have a serious talk about using spells!" He pushed off the table.

"It was harmless!" Emily defended as she pushed her chair back to stand.

"There is no such thing as a harmless spell, you hear me?" he spoke through gritted teeth. Emily held her tongue even though she did not agree with him. What the hell did he think gris-gris bags were, if not spells? From his duffle bag, he grabbed a pair of jeans, a tee and a shirt and stormed into the bathroom.

With a sigh, she seemed to be doing a lot of that lately, Emily rifled through her own bag. She replaced her cut off sweatpants with a pair of jeans and drew a T-shirt and a sweatshirt over her tank top. She was just zipping up her boots when Dean stalked out of the bathroom. His eyes swept the room as he crouched to pull on his boots and then he stiffened. Emily saw the reaction and her eyes flickered to where he was looking. She did not see anything out of place.

"Rae? Where is my gun?" he asked quietly.

She could not believe he was just noticing its absence now. Her mind supplied only one word 'shit!' but she managed to keep her voice neutral as she told him where his gun was.

With his heart pounding in anger, Dean rose to stalk to the bed. "Why the hell was there one huge bed anyhow?" he wondered. A vivid flashback answered his unspoken question and he scowled even more when he remembered his behaviour. He did not reach his destination because Emily had read his intention and she quickly supplied another piece of information.

"Umm, we took your knife too!"

Dean whirled to look at her, the fury burning in his eyes making her take a step back.

"What the hell! What is wrong with you? Why would you do such a thing? This … this is the reason I did not want to take those drugs in the first place! You and Sam, you're so … so … fuck, I can't even … I knew you two idiots would let the power get to you, and you'd make stupid decisions!'

Okay, That hurt. They hadn't made stupid decisions. Maybe a little misguided and overprotective, but not stupid. Besides, the Percocet was the only reason he was standing there blowing his gasket. Emily opened her mouth to tell him all this then she flashed back to that day at Bobby's when they'd returned from Rum River Minnesota. She snapped her mouth shut. He was being unreasonable, and she was pissed, but she realised it was only because he was scared and worried that something might happen to Sam without backup and he was probably feeling guilty because he had not been around to make the decisions. Possibly, he was feeling like he had let down his siblings, that he was the world's worst big brother. She on the other hand did not have such an excuse to act unreasonable, no matter how angry she was. Besides, fighting fire with fire wasn't going to solve anything. So she stood unnaturally still, her fists clenched tight and a tic going in her jaw in time with the numbers she was counting in her head.

"Give me your gun!"

"What!"

"You heard me!"

"But …"

He did not let her finish. "You should have thought of that before you had my weapons taken away. You've got your knife, right?"

Emily nodded. She had both of them actually.

"Good!" he said holding out his hand.

Emily handed over the gun. Her hand was shaking, she did not know whether it was due to distress or anger. Her emotions kept vacillating, from wanting to slap Dean, to wanting to hug him, to wanting to cry.

A rational part of Dean approved of his siblings' decisions. He didn't think he would have done anything that much differently if he'd been in their shoes, but the big brother part of him was furious, and not even at them, but at himself. He should have been there. He was supposed to watch out for them, not them to watch out for him. So he lashed out to the closest person. Emily.

He saw the moment she snapped, her eyes flashed dangerously, the amber turning gold. And he waited for her to tear into him. She'd be justified in her reaction. He deserved it after all. He was shocked when instead she held herself in check. He could see how much control she was holding over herself, her jaw clenched tight to keep the fiery words in, a tic going and her nose flaring in time with it. Her fists too were clenched tight, and she stood stiffly, probably keeping herself back from launching at him and pounding him into the ground. The angry heat in her eyes should have incinerated him where he stood.

He could not believe her control and he did not know what to make of it. He didn't know whether to be insulted or impressed. Was she holding back because she thought he was vulnerable right now? Or was she doing it because she wanted the moment to be over and done with so they could go look for Sam? Well, he was not going to go unarmed. He asked for her gun. The look in her eyes changed to shock, then morphed to distress. She protested but he insisted and she handed the gun to him. Her hands were shaking. He felt a twinge of remorse but he really needed a weapon. He placed it in the waistband of his jeans.

"Come on, let's go!" he said, gently this time. The wind had left his sails when the heat had left his sister's eyes and she'd looked at him like he'd kicked her puppy. He grabbed his jacket and he walked out of the room.

It took a second longer for Emily to uncurl herself and follow Dean out the door.

* * *

**A/N: Less fluff. You like?**


	14. Chapter 14

Sam stared at the dilapidated, neglected and obviously abandoned building with a sense of disillusionment. He really hadn't expected this. From Marilyn's throwaway comment about Mr. Foley, who Sam was sure was the curse suspect, he had expected the man to be living in one of those well kept suburbia houses that Dean despised, or in a swanky hotel if he was just visiting, but not in this eyesore! In its past life, this building had likely been a manufacturing plant or warehouse of some sort. Now? Well, the only thing it was probably good for was demolition; surely no renovation could salvage it.

His heart fell and he berated himself for having even had his hopes up in the first place. After all, he had gotten the address from a spell. Surreal as that had been, he really should have done things the straight way, instead of taking a shortcut. He should have asked Marilyn for Foley's first name and looked him up in a phone book or tracked him some other way. Sam brightened as it occurred to him that he still could. He decided he'd check out the building since he was already here and it was still early. After a quick run through, he would have time to return to Marilyn and convince her to tell her what she knew about that Foley guy. He'd tell her about Dean if that is what it would take. Energised by his plan, Sam drove the impala a block away and parked it in an alley. He hoped nothing happened to the car in his absence or Dean would kill him. He chuckled as he thought of his brother's attachment to his car. Checking his gun, he doubled back to the building.

The shoe prints in the dust of the pathway alerted him to the fact that the warehouse might not be as abandoned as it appeared. Someone had traipsed through here in the recent past, because the prints hadn't been covered by dust again. And that person had gone out again. The freshest prints were heading away. Still, Sam proceeded carefully, his gun now drawn. He pushed the creaky door open with his gun then shuffled to the side just in case someone jumped him. When no one did, he continued into the building, heading off to his right as soon as he closed the door behind him. Indeed it had been a processing plant because even in the dim light, he could clearly make out the long rows of steel bench-tops in the huge space, and the rods on which the overhead lifts and cranes had ridden. There were two doors to his right, a sliver of light under the first one. He carefully edged towards it.

The headache slammed into him with the force of a six-wheeler making him reel then sway on his feet. With a loud groan he fell to his knees. His gun fell out of his grip and skittered across the floor. The hunter in him disapproved of losing the gun and as he held his head, gritting his teeth to keep in the pain filled whimpers, he cast his eyes about to look for it. Unfortunately, his vision was blurry, his eyes were leaking involuntary tears and the sketchy search effort was not really registered by his brain which was focused on the pain. He felt like his head was held in a vise that was being tightened. When his nose began to bleed, his first hysterical thought was that his brain was leaking out and his tongue flicked out of his mouth with the morbid pain-insane curiosity of tasting the liquid. The tang of the blood reassured him but made him want to throw up. He swallowed the bile and made a clumsy effort to get back on his feet. He had only just managed to get up on one knee when he felt his head explode in a sharp white hot pain. With a whimper, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he toppled forward. He was unaware when his forehead hit his gun.

* * *

Awareness returned and quickly on it's heels came alarm. The horrific headache was gone, replaced by a throbbing ache that was keeping weird time with his heart. He was also aware of the bump on his forehead; he must have hit the floor exceptionally hard. The blood from the nosebleed had dried on his philtrum and chin and was itchy and irritating. He was unbelievably thirsty and the rumbling of his stomach reminded him that he'd skipped lunch. These discomforts were really minor inconveniences. What was alarming however, was the fact that except for his jeans, he was naked and he was shackled to a pole.

"Great! Just great!" he groused in his head. Only he could go after an ordinary human being and end up naked and tied up.

However as he thought about the circumstances that had led to his current predicament, he realised that he might have been too quick in his conclusions before coming here. While all the evidence had pointed to an ordinary person who had gotten lucky in finding and getting information from a woman who was very knowledgeable and yet blissfully oblivious to the supernatural, it was evident this man had additional power of some sort or he had learnt other spells along the way. Shit! Sam knew he was in trouble. He remembered the words he'd said to Emily. "Don't worry, I'll be fine!" Famous last words indeed. With a grim chuckle he opened his eyes and found himself staring into a pair of curious intense blue ones.

As Sam blinked in shock at the sudden light and the presence of another person, the guy who had been leaning so close to him that their noses were almost touching, drew back in horror, straightened up and began to back away clearly in a panic. In his haste he stumbled over a chair, the only furniture in the large room, and fell and still he continued to scramble away. Sam recovered. "Hey!" he called, but the man had finally picked himself up and disappeared out of the door, reaching back in with only his hand to turn off the light, plunging the room into darkness again.

"What the hell!" Sam exclaimed. He wondered who the guy had been. He was not the Foley guy Marilyn had mentioned, that was for sure. This guy couldn't be older than Sam himself. And why had he been so terrified of Sam who was tied up and was clearly not a threat? And why had Sam been unable to sense him when he'd been so close to him? Sam was a good hunter, he knew he was, so he should have been able to sense a person in such close proximity to him from the moment he had woken up.

In the darkness, Sam decided to take stock of his situation. First thing he noticed was that there were bandages on his wrists. He wondered what they were for. He didn't feel any pain, so he knew he'd not been cut or anything. Ignoring that for a moment he continued his investigation. His hands were behind him but he could tell he was shackled, not cuffed. He sighed in disappointment. Cuffs would have been so much easier to get out of. "Well, if wishes were horses!" he snarked to himself. Next he stood to see how much reach the chains attached to his shackles had. Not much, he couldn't even reach the chair the guy had toppled over. He investigated the pole the chains were looped around. It was actually a support beam so obviously it run all the way to the top so no way was he going to inch his chain over the top like he'd seen in a couple of movies. But it was an old building, rickety and dilapidated so maybe the beam was rickety too. He decided to test its strength by rocking back and tugging with all his might. He quickly realised how bad an idea that was and what the bandages were for when what felt like gigantic metal teeth bit into his wrists through the bandages. "Fuck!" he yelled at the pain, tears glassing up his eyes. He leaned back against the beam, closed his eyes and panted in deep measured breaths until the repetitive action made the pain seem less. The shackles were studded. This absolutely sucked. Still shaking slightly, he sat down and drew his knees to his chest.

At first the darkness was comforting, but as the minutes lengthened into what he was sure were hours, the darkness became oppressive. He felt like it was drawing in on him, suffocating him. His breaths started coming quicker and shallower and he tried to calm himself. It was not working, so he pictured Dean in front of him coaching him to breathe in and out. His breathing evened out. He smiled, thinking how even in his absence, his brother still managed to calm him down. He'd never tell Dean that though. His brother's head was big enough as it was. And then Sam remembered the curse. His breath immediately hitched in distress as he thought of his siblings. If he did not find a way out of this, Dean was going to die. And Emily was going to watch him, unable to do anything to save him. He didn't know which fate was worse. Dying or being left behind, left alone? He couldn't let it happen. His fate was probably fixed. There was no getting out of this, no way he could think of anyway, but he'd be damned if he let his siblings down.

"What the hell do you want?" he yelled. His anguish coming out as pure blind anger.

Amazingly, the door swung open and the light came on. Sam squinted in the sudden light and gasped. Now this was the man Marilyn had talked about. She had been right. He could very well have been a professor. There was something about him that just screamed academician. It was in the way he looked, with his salt and pepper hair and an intelligent, intense and slightly bemused face. It was in the way he carried himself, with measured, calculated and yet unhurried steps, and in the way he was dressed. Sam knew that most people thought professors dressed eccentrically, with elbow patches on their tweed jackets, and he supposed some of them did. However, the professors at Stanford had been well dressed. Just like this man. His well pressed shirt, cotton, was tucked into his well pressed pants, and a leather belt was strung through the loops. And his shoes were black and while they were not see-your-reflection shiny, they were evidently polished.

"What do you want?" Sam asked less vehemently, the man's appearance having thrown him for a loop.

"Now that is a tone I condone!" the man said reasonably. He righted the chair and sat down. "My name is Connor Foley. I'd shake your hand but well ..." he shrugged carelessly. There was an expectant pause. Sam stared at him, slack jawed. What did he want?

"What's yours?" the man finally huffed in annoyance after the silence had dragged on.

"What?" Sam was completely lost.

"Your name? What's your name?"

"You're kidding, right?" Sam couldn't help himself.

The man laughed. "No, I'm not."

Sam's eyes narrowed and he looked for the lie in the man's face. There was none. He decided to play along. See where this would go. "I'm Sam. Sam Raines." he said using the first name that came to him. He wanted to test the man further, see if he would react to the false last name. He didn't. This was weird. "Why am I here?"

"To be saved."

"What?"

"You, my son are an abomination. I will try my hardest to save you, since you're likely to become powerful and the good side will need all the power it can get. If I fail to save you, I will unfortunately have to kill you to save your soul."

Sam gaped. The man spoke so calmly, so reasonably but his words were the words of a madman. "What do you mean?" he asked. After all, the best way to get answers from a madman was to go along with his warped reality.

"I know all about his super kids. My son is one after all. Was one … I saved him. Now he fights with me."

"So, how many others have you managed to save aside from him?" Sam asked conversationally, wondering why he was being considered both an abomination and a special kid.

"Mmm, let's see …" Connor said looking thoughtful. "James Cooper makes it six."

"What?" Sam was aghast. Was the man saying what Sam thought he was saying? Had he killed six people, six kids? "James Cooper is dead!" he breathed in dismay.

"And his soul is safe and free! So are the others!"

"Oh God!"

"No, I'm not God. I'm just his instrument."

* * *

**A/N: Uh oh!**


	15. Chapter 15

It all began the night his son turned six months. Connor had thought he was dreaming when he heard a tiny pleading voice but had quickly realised it was his wife's voice coming in through the crackling baby mobile. She was in their son's nursery. She was pleading with someone not to take the baby. In his haste to get to his family, Connor had become tangled up in the bed clothes and fallen off the bed, still trapped in the linen. Struggling to free himself, he heard a man speak and he froze at the words.

"Ten years ago, you said yes, so I've come to collect."

"Please, don't take him!"

"I'm not here to take him. I just came to mark him as mine. However, if you get in my way, I'll kill him and your husband, and I'll make you watch them die … and then I'll kill you too. There are plenty others just like him so losing one is not a big deal to me. It's your choice really. It always was your choice."

Connor couldn't breathe. He lay still on the floor wondering what his wife would do. Loud silence carried over the temperamental mobile. Frozen in terror, Connor found himself wondering why the device was crackling like that. It had never crackled before. It was a stupid thing to be thinking about at such a time, but Connor recognised it as the coping mechanism it was. Of course years later, he'd learn the significance of the crackling.

"Good. Now that wasn't too bad, was it?" the man suddenly spoke making Connor jump. "Well, I'll see you around. Raise him up strong!"

It was a long time before Connor could gather his wits, untangle himself and make it to the nursery. His wife was seated in the rocking chair with their son. He could tell she'd been crying, but the tears had long since dried. There was a faint smell of sulphur, but he dismissed it. He'd learn the significance of that too.

"What happened? Who was that guy?" he asked his wife.

"What are you talking about?"

"The guy who was in here. The one who threatened you and Keith."

"I think you were dreaming honey. There was no one in here with us."

Connor's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "So why were you crying?"

She started a little, having been caught, but she recovered quickly. "I was feeling a little weepy. Left over hormones and a cranky baby!" she explained with a small laugh.

"Let me take him. You can go back to sleep."

"No, that's fine. I'm okay."

"I insist."

She had no choice but to hand over the baby. After she'd gone, he'd carefully looked the baby over searching for a mark, but he'd not found one. Still, he was sure he had not been dreaming.

He became a man on a mission, and nearly four months later, he found evidence. Not on Keith, but in one of his wife's old diaries. Why she'd written it down, he would never understand. He put it down to that weird female need to document everything. It had happened when she was in high school. An overachiever, she was at the top of her class, president of the debate club and interestingly enough a cheerleader. Beauty and brains indeed. But she had burnt out just before her finals. The man with yellow eyes had offered her a deal. Success in the exams for access to her house ten years later. She'd said yes without much thought. She was a teenager after all.

Connor had been livid after reading the diary entry. He'd accused her of selling their son to the devil. He asked her how Keith had been marked and she'd confessed, sobbing crocodile tears that did not move Connor. The yellow eyed man had made the baby drink his blood. Connor couldn't believe it. The mark was in his son, it couldn't be removed, unless he killed the boy. That was the first time Connor laid a hand on his wife. But it was not the last. She let him beat her. The pain was penance for her sin.

Connor began to research. In a year he'd found three stories in three separate small town publications, of men, all of them widowers, who vehemently swore they'd seen a yellow eyed man in their children's nurseries. All three men were in jail, one for killing his whole family, a wife, a sister, and his three children, and two for killing just their wives. Connor visited all three men. They stuck to their stories. A yellow eyed man had killed their wives by cutting their stomachs, pinning them on the ceiling and setting them on fire. The first guy had only managed to save himself before the house was destroyed, the second and third men had gotten their children out. All three men swore the man was impervious to the fire.

Connor asked what had happened to the children. One child was living with relatives, while the other had been taken by the state when the men were arrested. Both children had been exactly six months when the fires had occurred. Connor knew there was no way the men could have collaborated their stories, not to such detail.

So he had researched the yellow eyed man. The day he'd learnt the man was possibly a demon, he had been horrified; his son might have a demon's blood in him. Still, better a demon than the devil himself. It was possible to save his son. Connor began to read books about the occult. His wife silently disapproved. He didn't care. Then he learnt about exorcisms and decided he'd try one. His wife disapproved, very loudly this time. She died six months later in a car accident. The police were the ones who ruled it an accident. Connor knew the truth. Of course he knew he could get away with murder. He was an extremely gifted forensic scientist after all. Keith had only been five then. He'd mourned his mother until Connor had forbidden it, tired of the little boy's sobs. The child's sudden clamming, had made Connor realise just how much power he had over his son. He had abandoned the idea of an exorcism. Instead, Connor had began the systematic emotional and psychological stripping of everything the boy was, until Keith was nothing but a zombified disciple.

Then Keith turned thirteen and began to exhibit psychic powers. Even though his son was by then his puppet, Connor had been terrified the boy's powers would make him rebel. Within a month, they'd moved to Jonesboro, Illinois. Connor had gotten a teaching position at SIU in Carbondale explaining his decision to leave a great paying job and moving with a cutesy reason, "My son comes first, and he wasn't happy where we at."

The woman he was explaining to had "aawwed" and looked at him with adoring eyes and Connor knew he had a fan in her.

He and Keith went camping every two weeks, an activity that endeared Connor to his neighbours who thought he was the most devoted father in the world. It never occurred to them to question why his son was so awkward and withdrawn if Connor was such a wonderful father. They would never know that he used those "camping trips" to perform exorcisms on his son. He performed four different exorcisms before he was satisfied his son's soul was pure. Then the camping trips became a once a month fixture just meant to keep up appearances. Until on one of those trips, Connor realised he needed to do more than keep his son on a leash.

The Torrini family from Ohio had consisted of five. The parents Paul and Fay, and their children, thirteen year old Cary, eight year old Brett and five year old Susie. They'd been on a family vacation, Paul figuring it was a good idea to teach his children about nature while bonding with them. Connor would never have paid the family any heed if he hadn't woken up one morning to find his son had sneaked out of the house. He found the boy by the river talking with Cary Torrini. Paul Torrini and his son Brett were fishing nearby not paying too much attention to the teenagers. Being the charismatic man he was, Connor approached the four with a cheery greeting. Keith and Cary had jumped a mile at his voice, but fortunately Paul and Brett had not noticed. Connor had stuck around for a while, talking amicably with Paul, with that easy camaraderie family men whose children were getting along tended to have. Then when it was polite, he called his son and they left. He did not miss the suspicious, scared look Cary was giving him. When they got home he asked his son what he and the girl had been talking about. The boy was silent until he saw his father's eyes narrow. Knowing that look, he answered.

"She's a telepath." As Connor was still wondering about the implications of that, Keith added in a whisper, "She knows!"

"Knows what?"

The boy gulped and his eyes slid away from his dad so he wouldn't see the tears gathering there. "That you killed mom!"

Connor thought about denying it, but changed his mind. "Your mother was a stupid, evil bitch who sold you to a demon. I hope you're not going to cry for her. I forbid it years ago, I forbid it now!"

Keith blinked rapidly until the tears receded, but he couldn't meet his father's eyes. He didn't know what he was going to do. He'd decided that he'd tell Cary tomorrow that she was right. He couldn't believe he'd met another kid who was like him. Well, not like him, after all, their powers were different, and her parents were nice to her, and didn't think she'd been corrupted by a demon. He never got the chance to talk to her because Connor drove them back home that evening, explaining to the other family that Keith was suddenly not well. Keith had not even said goodbye to his new friend.

When they got home, Connor had made sure the neighbours saw them, and he made sure to tell everyone that he and his son were spending a quiet evening in, because of Keith feeling under the weather. At a few minutes after midnight, he'd woken up his son and they'd driven back to the campsite. The three Torrini children were sharing one tent while their parents shared the other. Cary had told Keith this, complaining about how terrible it was to share a tent with babies, as she viewed her siblings thus.

Donning gloves, and covering his hair with a beanie, Connor soaked a cloth with chloroform, quietly entered the tent and grabbed Cary. Neither Brett nor Rose witnessed their sister's abduction.

Keith had stared at his father in shock when the man had returned, to where he'd left him, carrying his friend.

"Dad?" he'd began but Connor had shushed him. Reluctantly he'd followed Connor to the clearing where their tent had stood just a few hours earlier.

As an avid believer, Connor would have exorcised the girl, or at least tried, because he knew she was like his son, but he didn't bother this time. She was a major threat to him. Without remorse, he broke the girl's neck. Keith's eyes had nearly bugged out in horror at what he was witnessing and he'd turned to the side and thrown up violently.

As Connor quickly cut the symbols he'd memorised into the girl's torso, he conversationally told his son, "You did good boy!"

Then he'd wiped down the knife, kicked dirt over his son's vomit and dragged his nearly catatonic son back to the car.

"You know, if she hadn't known about your mother, I wouldn't have killed her. I would just have carried out the cleansing and let her go. But she knew. My job is too important for me to go to jail. You know that, don't you?"

The boy had nodded. He'd trembled all though the drive back to the house. He hadn't slept the rest of the night.

The police had been at their house in the morning. Connor had been superb.

"Oh God, that could have been Keith!" he stumbled convincingly backwards until he hit the settee and slowly sank into it. "Those poor, poor people!" he croaked with tears swimming in his eyes, but valiantly held back. "My son and I, we were there just yesterday!" his voice wobbled.

The police knew that. That was why they had visited. The body had been found at the site the Foleys had pitched their tent. They asked him why he'd left the site the day before, and he told them Keith had been sick. The vomit found covered at the site was proof of that. Just then, Keith had walked into the living room on rubbery legs. He'd looked terrible, the shock and lack of sleep showing on his face; the glazed, bloodshot eyes with bags testament to the horror he'd witnessed. The police had taken his appearance as further evidence of Connor's truth, and excused themselves quickly. The neighbours and even the Torrinis had readily alibied Connor. Everyone ignored Keith. They thought he was sick and shaken by the death of a friend. Connor had commiserated with the Torrinis and supported them during the grieving, and his status in the community had soared even higher.

Connor held Keith back from school for a while, telling everyone he was still recovering from it all. He was an attentive and amazingly tender to the boy during this time. Keith who rarely got positive attention from his father ate it all up. By the time he returned to school, his father was a hero, and not a monster, in his eyes.

Finding out about Cary and freeing her soul, had been an accident, but it made Connor realise he had a job to do. First of all, he was one of few who knew about these children, how gifted and powerful they were, and on which side they really belonged. Secondly, he knew he was one of very few who knew how to conquer the evil in the children and make them God's weapon. He couldn't be content with just Keith and Cary. Even though she'd died, he still considered Cary a success, because she wouldn't fight on the side of evil when the day came. Lastly, he had an instrument. He'd use Keith to find the other children like him. This was why God had allowed his son to get corrupted in the first place, so that the boy could have powers they'd use in the fight for good.

So he praised Keith, and treated him well, until the boy was convinced he and his father were soldiers in the good fight.

Then he who had once been so afraid of his son's powers started to nurture them. His son was powerful. With his mind, the boy could inflict pain, though he preferred not to, and Connor didn't push him too hard on this one because he knew what happened to pushy lion-tamers. Also, Keith could sense other children like him within a given radius.

Aside from his son, there were no other demon-blood children in Jonesboro which was good because despite being gung-ho about the mission, Connor didn't want to hunt in his home town. That was when the going away on holiday tradition had started for the Foleys. Keith was ecstatic. His father was finally treating him the way a father should.

Two years later, in Provo, Utah, fifteen year old Frank Wertz, an empath, was killed. In his autopsy, it was found that the etched symbols on his torso, though the same as those found on Cary Torrini, had been premortem. Connor had tried to cleanse Frank, and had only killed him because the cleansing had not worked. At least that's what he told his son. Seventeen year old Ella Laswell was killed sixteen months after Frank in Norman, Oklahoma. Connor had explained to Keith that with the girl's telekinesis power, there was no way a cleansing would have worked. Keith believed him. Work commitments prevented the Foleys from venturing out the year after that, but the next year, twenty year old twins Tyler and Skye Ahearn were killed in Walla Walla, Washington. This time Connor didn't even give an excuse for why he could not attempt a cleansing first. He was beyond pretending. Keith didn't ask either. However, killing the twins had not been easy. Tyler had fought hard for his sister's sake, and she'd almost gotten away. Connor had had to chase her down. She'd been only a few metres from reaching help. Scared about the close call, Connor decided to find another way to get rid of the abominations.

He'd spent the next year researching, trying to find a way to kill remotely. He'd visited what felt like a million occult shops before he found Marilyn Thomas. He couldn't believe his luck. Even though waiting a week for a mark to die was not ideal, Connor was glad it was possible. They were just driving through Greenville when Keith sensed James Cooper, a pyrokinetic.

Connor had been intrigued and eager to try out the curse. He'd decided fire would kill the abomination. Then Keith had unwittingly given him another target. James Cooper was apparently having an affair with a married man. So Connor set his sights on James' boyfriend, after all, he, Connor was God's instrument and God frowned upon fornicators. For treating his wife and child so coldly, Alex Jukić would die of cold.

Connor couldn't believe how well the curse had worked! There had been collateral damage, Cooper James Bates, but well, shit happened. The best part, as far as Connor was concerned, was how much his victims suffered before they died. Then as if God was applauding him for a job well done, Keith had given him more good news.

"There's another one. He's just come into town."

"What are this one's powers?"

"Precognition."

"What is that? What can he do with that?"

"Well, he has the ability to sense and see things that may happen in the future. In his case it's still only happening through his dreams, correct hunches and "just knowing" but in time he'll probably develop flashes and full fledged visions. I don't know what he can do with that. Maybe change the future?" Keith had shrugged.

"He'd be a great asset! We'll try to exorcise this one."

"He's not alone."

"What? Who is he with?"

Keith concentrated. "His brother … older." Then he remembered Tyler Ahearn and his sister and added, "An extremely protective older brother."

"Is the brother gifted?"

"No. He's a headblind."

Connor had growled. He hated that term. It made him feel inadequate, and he hated feeling inadequate, especially when it was his weak son making him feel that way.

Keith had taken a step back mumbling a sorry.

Connor had made Keith concentrate on the new abomination until he could envision the brother's image and use it for the curse. Since the brother was protective, they'd target his strength. Attack his bones and muscles. As they waited for him to die, they looked for a place nearby where they could exorcise the abomination. Keith had found this warehouse by casting for a place where he couldn't pick up any thoughts, a place that was deserted.

Then the abomination had walked in of his own accord. Surely, that was a sign from God to Connor.

Keith had been able to incapacitate the giant abomination by inducing a hellish headache using his power. Together he and his father had carried him to the room where his father had cuffed him to a pole and then gone back to the town to get supplies. Keith had never been left alone with an abomination before, and he was dead curious. He noticed the cuffs were razored cuffs. Thinking his father had gotten them by mistake and not realised that they were studded, Keith had wrapped bandages around the wrists of the shaggy haired boy. Then he'd began to study him, reaching into his head to see what was in there. He'd been startled when the abomination had opened its eyes and stared at him. He'd fled the room, in terror. He didn't want to become contaminated again.


	16. Chapter 16

Connor smiled smugly. He'd killed nine people, but as far as he was concerned, only six counted as people he'd saved. His wife, Alex Jukić and Cooper Bates didn't count since they were not abominations. "You know, I couldn't believe it when you rolled into town! Guess I should have realised that you freaks were all connected in some way," he mused.

"Freaks?" Sam laughed bitterly. "I'm not the one going around killing people!"

"You will if I don't stop you."

Sam gave up. There was no talking reason into this man. Connor sensed Sam's sudden reticence. He sighed and stood. Might as well begin. He rummaged in his bag and grabbed a secespita and a capped bottle, and then walked toward Sam.

Sam stood up and squared his shoulders. He was not going to die cowering on the ground.

Connor approved. "You're a tough one, aren't you … unlike my son! I really hope I can save you." He stopped just outside Sam's reach, uncapped the bottle then began to pour the liquid on the floor.

Sam watched in fascinated horror. The bottle's contents looked like blood. He hoped it wasn't but if it was, he hoped it wasn't human. As the pattern started to become clear, Sam realised Connor was drawing a heptagram. Despite his resolution not to talk to the madman anymore, he couldn't help himself. "You're going to exorcise me?" he snickered. He couldn't believe the irony of the moment.

"Yes, I hope to." Connor assured him, though he was a little unnerved by the fact that the abomination knew the significance of the markings he was making. He wondered whether someone had tried to exorcise the boy before.

Sam mulled over that for a moment before he exclaimed, "Wait! How come you didn't do this for Dean? You just cursed him!"

"He's not an abomination. He doesn't need cleansing."

"What? Then why did you curse him if he's innocent."

"He's not innocent. He was protecting an abomination! The curse is his punishment!"

"What?" Sam could hear the blood rushing in his ears, his breathing hitched. Dean was suffering because of him. Dean could die because of him. Had he been born to be the bane of his family? Of his friends? His mother had died because of him, Jessica had died because of him, and now Dean was going to die because of him. No, before he died, he needed to find a way to convince this man to let Dean live. No one else was going to die because of him.

"You've got me now. Please, just let him go." While he wouldn't beg for his own, Sam was not averse to begging for his brother's life.

"No. He protected you. He deserves to die."

"He protects me because he's my brother! He doesn't know I'm an abomination."

"How could he not? You've told him about your dreams, haven't you? So how can you say he doesn't know?"

"Is that what this is about? My dreams?" Sam didn't think anything the man could say would surprise him anymore. He'd been wrong. This man thought he was an abomination because he had dreams that came true? This was messed up.

"Yes, all you abominations have one gift or another. You've got precognition. It's one of the 'clair gifts'. My son is a telepath-kinetic. That Cooper kid was a pyrokinetic."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sam yelled in frustration. Nothing was making sense.

"Watch your tone kid!" Connor growled.

Sam gulped in air to calm himself down. It wouldn't do to anger the man who held his brother's life in his hands. Connor was now edging out of Sam's eye sight. Sam resisted the urge to turn. "Please, let him go, please. He protected me out of love. Just like you protected your son." Sam tried to appeal to the man's parental side. He might as well have been talking to a stone wall.

Connor ignored the boy. There was nothing he could say that would make him take the curse back. As he continued the pattern behind the abomination's back, he glanced up to see what the boy was doing. He knew how dangerous a cornered animal could be and he didn't want to take any chances. What he saw made his blood boil.

"Keith!" the bellowed word made Sam flinch. Connor strode back into Sam's eyesight and waited, with his back to him. The jumpy guy from before came in. He was trembling. Looking at him properly now, Sam could tell he was Connor's son. Even though he was probably the same age as him, and Sam hadn't considered himself one since his fifteenth birthday, Sam couldn't help thinking of Keith as a boy. His 5' 6" height, his slim build and his wide terrified eyes reinforced the image. He looked so vulnerable, it was hard to reconcile him with the powers Sam knew he had. Sam felt a swell of sympathy for him.

Connor grabbed the boy by the scruff of his neck and held him down. His mouth foaming in his fury, he yelled, "I thought I'd saved you!"

"You did … you did!" the boy stammered. Terror evident in his voice.

"Really? Then why did you wrap bandages around his wrists if it wasn't because some kind of abomination solidarity you have with him? Uuh? How come you feel compassion for him?" Connor spat.

"I … I …"

Sam watched the scene in horror. What kind of father would do this to his own child? Try to make him a monster? Punish him for feeling compassion? Sam looked at the cowering boy, a boy so psychically powerful, he could give Sam a headache without being in the same room, and yet Keith couldn't distance or protect himself from his father's madness. He had been systematically indoctrinated from childhood, until he was completely broken, until he'd become a shell, a puppet. He was a complacent, pliant, and amazingly powerful weapon for a lunatic. Yet, in spite that, he was still holding on stubbornly to a tiny speck of good in him, the bandages around Sam's wrists proved that.

"He did it because he was worried the blood would made it easier for me to slip the cuffs off." Sam answered.

"What? Is that true?" Connor ignored Sam and shook his son.

Gulping, the boy nodded. Sam saw a tear fall to the ground. Connor shook Keith one more time before tossing him aside. He scrambled a safe distance away from him father then raised surprised but grateful eyes to Sam.

Sam had no way of knowing that Keith hadn't been thinking altruistically at all. He had just wanted his father to be proud of him. He hadn't wanted Sam to pull at the chain, gouge his wrists and bleed to death before his father had the chance to carry out the exorcism, or the killing, so he'd bandaged the abomination's wrists. Keith had just been struggling for a way to say this to his father when the abomination had given him an even better answer. One designed to make his father just as proud of him.

"That was very good thinking son, but you needn't have worried. He'd never be able to squeeze out of those things, without taking his hand off!" Connor laughed. Keith swelled with pride hearing his father's praise, and Sam realised with a sinking heart that maybe the boy was not as innocent as he'd thought.

"Can I stay and watch?" Keith asked eagerly. Now Sam knew for sure. The little shit was just as twisted as his father!

"Yeah, just don't get in the way." Satisfied that his son was not becoming evil, or sympathetic to evil, Connor returned to finish the circle. Then with the secespita he cut the bandages off Sam's wrists. He was satisfied to see that the bandages had not completely stopped the cuffs from cutting into the boy's wrists.

Sam stayed still. Even with the bandages on, the cuffs had cut him, and besides, he already knew that struggling was not going to loosen anything, or help him in any way. Instead he glared at Keith, who was oblivious to him. The boy had retreated as far as he could get in the huge room without losing sight of what his father was doing. Connor kissed the secespita, chanted a few words then scratched a crude circle into the floor around the bloody heptagram. Returning to the bag, he grabbed seven black candles, placed them at the points of the heptagram and lit them. Then he stood in front of Sam, but out of reach and burnt incense. The man had mixed so many rituals, Sam didn't know whether to snort in derision or roll his eyes in contempt. He was going to die at the hands of an idiot! He glanced at Keith and amended his thought. He was going to die at the hands of an idiot and a psychic coward!

Well, before he died, he had to find a way to save Dean. His siblings were counting on him. That thought jolted him into a sudden realisation. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed till then that Connor hadn't mentioned Emily. Not once, not even in passing. Did he not know about her, or did he know and had just dismissed her? Whatever the reason Sam was glad because it meant that Connor was unlikely to go after her.

Energised by the fact that one sibling was out of harm's way, Sam desperately tried to think of a way to save the other. Then it hit him. He could try reversing the curse himself. Without even knowing it, Connor had provided the items necessary for the reversal. Sam was bleeding, there was burning incense, burning acacia leaves, lit candles, and were those tourmaline stones Connor was laying down? Yes! Perfect! Sam thought back to the conversation he'd had with Marilyn. If he could figure out how the curse on his brother had been tailored, he could reverse it, after all, he was a little psychic too the dreams proved it. So he thought about the curse victims before Dean. Cooper had clearly been unfortunate collateral because of James who had been a pyrokinetic and … well, for lack of a better description, had boiled to death, Alex on the other hand had died of hypothermia, the exact opposite, of James but dammit, Connor had not mentioned why he'd targeted Alex. Sam wondered whether Connor who was in the middle of another stupid chant would even answer him. He crossed his fingers and asked his question.

"What about Alex Jukić, what power did he have?"

Connor startled at the sudden sound, but he answered. He was just going through the motions and didn't care whether the chant was interrupted. "None."

"So why did you kill him?"

"He was an adulterer. Cold bastard was cheating on his wife!" there was heat in the words.

The man was a zealot for sure. Sam briefly wondered how a man of science could have become such a religious nut. He didn't dwell on it though because the dots had finally connected. Sam knew how the curse had been tailored to Dean. Connor was punishing Dean for being a protector, so of course the bastard had targeted Dean's physical strength. That explained why it was Dean's bones and muscles that were failing. Glad that Keith was concentrating on his crazy father who was concentrating on his stupid wrong chant, Sam concentrated on remembering the reverse spell. Just as he'd fully remembered it and was preparing to quickly recite it, Connor came toward him with the secespita.

Hell, no! No way! He wasn't dying before reversing that spell. That was the only thought Sam had when he drew back his head and brought it crashing into Connor's face. The squelchy crunch was the most satisfying sound he'd ever heard, while the ping of the falling knife and Connor's anguished bellow as he reeled back were tied for second most satisfying sound Sam had ever heard.

He knew the excruciating pain in his head wasn't due to the headbutt he'd delivered, and he was right, because he heard Connor speak as if from far away, "Duht kib hib. Ees bine!" Sam knew Connor was speaking to Keith, "Don't kill him, he's mine!"

Sam knew he was going to die slowly and painfully. But it was worth it. He only hoped he'd be able to reverse the curse on Dean before he died. Just before he passed out, he managed a smirk that would have made his brother proud.


	17. Chapter 17

"Finally!" Dean exclaimed in relief and hurried towards the car. It was a Plymouth Satellite station wagon. Any other day he'd be grumbling about it being a hippie soccer mom car, but not today. They'd already been walking for twenty minutes looking for a car he could hot-wire. It was not an ideal time of the day to be looking for a car to take, and the pickings were few. Additionally, all the ones they'd seen so far had been those newer models whose crazy security he didn't know how to bypass.

Emily looked at the wagon in disbelief. There were car shells at Bobby's junkyard that were in better condition than this thing! However, she didn't say anything, for two reasons; one, it was the first car in twenty excruciatingly slow minutes that Dean had shown any joy at seeing, and two, she was not talking to Dean!

They both crossed their fingers and hoped that the wreck was a running vehicle and that it was fuelled. With Emily acting as a lookout, Dean hot-wired the car and actually whooped for joy when it started.

Emily got in, slammed the door and slumped onto the seat with her arms crossed upon her chest. It was a childish display, and she knew it, but she was still as mad as hell at Dean and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't hide it.

She looked out the window as he drove, she didn't want to look at him. He was so bloody stubborn! The pain was coming back. That much was obvious. It was in the pinch of his mouth and the white knuckled grip he had on the steering of the stolen car, but he was pretending he was fine. Please, she wasn't an idiot! She knew the signs and she knew him. But he wouldn't let her drive, he'd refused to give back her gun, and he had absolutely, adamantly refused to let her take the lead. Yes, she was a greenhorn … his word not hers, but she wasn't useless. She could handle herself, even he, Dean super-hunter Winchester, had said so before. She'd reminded him of this earlier as they walked looking for a car to jack. He hadn't refuted it, in fact, he'd reiterated the statement, but had then added that despite that, she was not ready to take point. She'd not been on enough hunts yet.

"Well, yeah, but this is just a person! I'm sure I can take him!" she'd argued.

Dean had turned back to glare at her. "First of all, in the hunting world, being cocky will get you killed faster than lacking skills! Secondly, I want you to remember, and understand that people can be just as dangerous as any supernatural thing that is out there. Third, did it even once occur to you two morons that if this man can remote-curse a person, then he is not just a person? He's obviously got powers that are not normal!"

Emily had recoiled as if she'd been hit, and had not said a word to Dean since then, choosing to stew in silence.

The silence in the car would have been deafening if Dean in a bid to ignore his pain hadn't began singing Guns 'N Roses 'Welcome to the Jungle'. His rendition, complete with him trying to sing the guitar riffs was hilarious and Emily's lips began twitching. She had to bite down on her lower lip to hold in the mirth threatening to burst forth, and it was in that moment that she realised something. It really wasn't Dean she was mad at, even though he was an ass, calling her cocky and moronic all in one sentence! Everyone this side of the divide, and probably the other side too knew he was the cocky one! But that was besides the point, as she realised she was mad at herself and not him. She'd messed up. She'd let Sam go by himself on a hunt. She knew that was what Dean was really accusing her of. And he was right. She should have found a way to convince Sam to wait. Anger gave way to guilt.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled contritely.

Dean stopped in the middle of a yeah to ask, "What?"

"I'm sorry, okay!" Emily said more loudly and a little defensively.

"For what exactly?" Dean was genuinely confused.

"I shouldn't have let Sam go off on his own, and we shouldn't have taken away your weapons."

"Now where the hell did that come from?" Dean thought in surprise. He cast back frantically until it occurred to him that she was reacting to what he'd said as they walked from the motel. God, she thought he had been blaming her! He hadn't, he wasn't. With a guilty pang, he realised he had been a little harsh, but he had just been venting his frustration at not finding a suitable car to jack, and not being in top form during this whole hunt. He really needed to stop running his mouth, especially when it came to his guilt prone siblings. One day he was going to damage one of them irrevocably! It was just that he sometimes forgot how sensitive they were. "Hey, Sam is a big boy, and he's a giant too. Short of shooting him with a tranquilliser, you couldn't have stopped him, and I know you tried to stop him."

Emily startled at his perceptiveness. There was no pulling wool over his eyes for sure. He smiled at the look on her face.

"I know you, and I know Sam!" he explained. Dean knew she hadn't simply let Sam walk away; Sam had to have talked her into acceptance. Then he continued, "As for you guys taking away my weapons, I was mad as hell about that, but I admit, it was the right call."

She sat in stunned silence wanting to believe him, but not really sure she did. "But if you don't think I messed up, why won't you let me take point?" she couldn't help whining.

Dean chuckled. "Call it a hang up if you want. That's what Sammy calls it. I know he's more than capable, but unless I'm completely out of commission, I would never let him take point!"

"It's a big brother thing, then?" Emily surmised.

"I guess!" he admitted with a rueful smile. A beat of silence followed then he added, "I was six when dad handed me a gun and started me shooting, and I was thirteen when he took me on my first hunt. But guess what?"

Emily looked at him questioningly.

"He never let me take point!"

"Really?" It was more a statement of awe than a question.

"Yep. Thirteen years, as the right hand man! Even now, I'm sure I'd have to fall back to that position if by some stroke of luck we end up on a hunt with him."

"Oh!" Emily said finally understanding. Dean wasn't pulling rank, or proving seniority. It wasn't about ego. It was just the way things were. The way he'd been raised. Without John it was Dean's responsibility to take over. To watch out for Sam … and for her. She accepted that, and felt the resentment, that she hadn't even been aware of, dissipate.

This time she joined in on the singing.

* * *

"So what's the plan?" Emily asked after Dean had commented that they were almost there.

"Well, we're going in completely blind this time, so I guess we'll be winging it." Dean answered nonchalantly.

"So no plan! This should be fun! Kind of like improv, right?" Emily was so gleeful, she was almost bouncing in her seat.

Dean glanced fondly at her and fought hard not to laugh. Her animation was off the charts. He remembered with a smile that he'd been the same way about hunts, but his enthusiasm had taken a hit when Sam left for college and even though it had returned when he did, it never got back to the same levels as before. Sam on the other hand though just as experienced and deadly, had always been a reluctant hunter. It's too dark, the ground is not straight, the gun is too heavy, the shotgun is too long, the shots are too loud, had been his standard complaints when he was younger and had then changed to the one liner, 'this is so stupid' when he'd hit the teenage years, changing to 'this blows' or 'this sucks' when he was slightly older. The only good thing was that he'd always voiced these to Dean. Unfortunately, when he'd started voicing the endless 'whys', he'd directed them at their father. Why do we have to? Why us? Why now? Why do you have to compare us? Why can't I? Why do it that way? It was then that the Winchester household had imploded, because John, a no nonsense soldier, hated to explain himself, according to him, an order had to be followed, never questioned, while Sam, an analyser, adamantly refused to follow orders he didn't understand and argued he was not a soldier. Dean had watched his small family disintegrate because neither Sam nor John knew when to compromise, and each expected Dean to take his side. He saw merit in both arguments. He wished Sam followed orders without question during the actual hunt, but he wished John explained more during the lead up to the hunt. However, Dean could never get either one to accept this, so he became the official Winchester referee. He found himself briefly wondering what it would have been like if Emily had grown up alongside them. Whether John would have been more of a father then, whether Emily would still have grown to be a keen hunter, or if she would have been a reluctant one or somewhere in between, or not hunted at all, whether Dean himself would have been as keen as he had been. Whether Sam would have left for college. He shook himself out of his thoughts. What ifs were stupid. The present was all they had.

"Hey Sparky! Remember it's still a hunt, not an episode of _'Whose line is it anyway?' _okay?" he admonished lightly thinking of her use of the word improv.

"Yeah!" Emily said not in the least chastened.

"And you have to listen to everything I say and every signal I give!" Dean added.

"You tell me that on every single hunt, Dean! And I always listen too, I'm not an idiot!" Emily grumbled.

"Well, as a big brother, I always assume otherwise!" he joked. Emily had never given him reason to worry about not following orders, as she understood and readily admitted that his hunting knowledge was superior. Truth however was, with a person as inherently independent as she was, it was not a bad idea to assume she needed reminding about who was in charge. It wouldn't do for her to go rogue on a hunt. That was a free ticket to Deadsville!

* * *

The blow to his stomach woke Sam up. He gasped in a breath. Connor was right in his face with a terrible look on his face; a look that told of evil things to come and made Sam's aching stomach knot. His head had been strapped to the beam with a belt, a precaution that explained why Connor was not worried about being so close to the person who had broken his nose with a headbutt.

"Gosh, I sure hope I didn't put your nose out of joint!" Sam quipped the double entendre with a short laugh.

"Oh, make as many jokes as you want now because you won't be laughing for long. I can assure you of that."

"I like assurances! What can I say, they're reassuring!" it wasn't a great comeback, but it was better than nothing.

Connor scowled. He took his secéspita from behind his back and played with it for a while. Even if he did not show it, Sam was scared; anyone would be terrified if a certified madman was brandishing a knife in their face, moreover a knife known for use in ritual killings.

"I studied anatomy," Connor began conversationally, "do you know how many places I can stick this without killing you?"

"Mmmm, that sounds vaguely kinky!" Sam waggled his eyebrows.

In answer, Connor drove the knife into Sam's side, slowly, carefully, almost lovingly, without twisting or curving. In fact Sam was sure the man was taking extra care to hold the knife steady. The pain was white hot, threatening to make him cry out but he gritted his teeth to hold in the whimper. He tried not to move as he knew that would make the stab wound worse and also make the cuffs bite more into his wrists.

"You know, the skin is an amazing thing! You strike me as a smart kid, so you're probably aware that when you're stabbed, your skin closes tightly around the object, effectively sealing the wound. Which is the reason doctors advice leaving whatever stabbed you in place. But did you know it closes again if the object is removed? Not completely of course, but enough to trap some blood within the body." Connor lectured as he pulled the knife out just as slowly and carefully. He looked at the blood flowing from the wound, whispered hmmm and plunged the knife elsewhere. It was only the thought of saving Dean that kept Sam tethered to consciousness.

Meanwhile, Dean and Emily had drawn up to the location and while Dean took the building in stride, Emily was thrown. Like Sam, she'd been expecting a house. Dean parked at the back of building. They tried the back roller door but it wouldn't budge so they crept to the front, hugging the walls of the old factory.

"Right, this is it. Remember, you have to follow my lead!" Dean couldn't help repeating as he edged the door open.

"Oh! My! God! Dean! I know!" Emily whispered shortly. She drew her extrema ratio knife from it's boot sheath, rolled her eyes at how inconsequential it felt compared to a gun, and cautiously followed her brother inside.

Dean squelched a laugh, and when she drew level with him, he waved her ahead into the gutted factory, expertly covering her while she found suitable cover.

As Connor prepared to stab Sam a fourth time, Keith whispered urgently, "There's someone here!"

Connor paused to look at his son. "Who is it?"

Keith concentrated for a while. "The brother!" the shock in his voice was hard to miss.

"Really? This just got better!" Connor rejoiced. "Neutralise him!" he ordered.

Sam frowned. Dean was here? Then obviously Emily was too! Fuck! He should have known they'd show up. Bloody, stubborn, overprotective idiots! He didn't know whether to sigh in relief or cry in frustration. This was going south in ways he had not anticipated. The only comfort he had was the knowledge that Keith hadn't sensed Emily. But he didn't think that advantage would hold long because Connor and Keith would see her as soon as they stepped out there. Sam hoped she had the presence of mind to stay out of sight, but he doubted she would be able to resist helping Dean if he got felled by one of those Keith induced headaches. When his captors went out the door, Sam used the advantage of their absence to quickly recite the curse reverse spell and fervently hoped it worked. Then he welcomed the darkness that had been threatening to swallow him.

* * *

The intensity with which the headache hit, left Dean in no doubt that it was not a normal symptom. He didn't think he'd made a sound in his distress but he must have because Emily was now looking back at him in concern. She began to raise from her crouch and even though he wanted to use his hands to clutch his head or preferably tear it off, he knew he had to signal her to stay put, at least for now. He knew at that moment she was running on pure emotion, as he would have too, but reason dictated that she stay hidden until he figured out what was going on. And if he didn't, well, having a functional player in the game couldn't hurt. He had to give both the stay low and the freeze signals and additionally mouth 'stay' before he was sure she'd comply. Then he passed out.

Emily had heard Dean's gasp and had turned curiously. Immediately she rose to return to him, but he signalled her to stay low and freeze, he even mouthed stay. Every fibre of her being wanted to disregard his orders and run to him, but she'd promised she'd listen to him, so she stayed in position, and watched fearfully as his steps faltered and he fell. Just as she'd decided that his passing out effectively nullified his orders, and was getting up to go to him, the sliver of light grew as the door was thrown open. She crouched back in hiding and watched wide-eyed as two men walked into view. One kicked Dean in the side.

"That's really not necessary, he's out!" the other one, a smaller one said. The statement was said with childish indignation at not being trusted and not with compassion for Dean.

"One can never be too careful! Grab his legs!" the other growled. Emily decided this was the leader.

When they grabbed Dean, the smaller one released an oomph at the effort. "These guys are huge and heavy!"

"That's only because you're a freaking midget and a pansy!" the other said unkindly.

So they had Sam too! Shit! Emily thought. Well, this wasn't how she'd wanted to take point, but Dean was out of commission, and it seemed Sam was incapacitated too, so she had no choice in the matter. She stayed in place for a few more minutes after the door had closed behind the men, then got up. She checked where Dean had fallen, but the gun wasn't there. Evidently, it had been picked up by one of the goons.

"This is why I should have been the one with the gun!" she huffed in annoyance. Okay, now what?


	18. Chapter 18

Dean's eyes flickered open and the first thing he saw was his brother, strung up, and bleeding. He fought uselessly against his bonds. "Whoever you are, you bastard, I'm going to kill you!" he yelled, not taking his eyes off Sam to look for his captor. He knew the bastard was around somewhere.

Sam frowned as he woke. "Dean?" he croaked, opening his eyes to stare blearily at his brother, ignoring Connor and Keith who were seated behind him conferring about something. Probably where to stick the knife next. Ghoulish bastards!

"Sammy? You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Really, it looks worse than it is. Nothing a bath won't fix." Sam tried to assure his brother. He knew that the blood was making Dean see red, no pun intended at all, but the wounds in his side weren't really that deep and he knew Connor had made sure they wouldn't kill him.

"A bath? You're such a girl!" Dean responded with a forced smile.

Sam gasped a laugh, "Please, I know you liked it too!"

Dean snickered, unforced this time. "Yeah, well, like I said, we guys have to sneak to use all the good stuff you girls get all the time!"

"Jerk!" Sam laughed out loud.

"Bitch!"

"Punk?" he discreetly asked about Emily.

"New point." Dean answered just as discreetly, having easily understood what Sam was asking.

"How do you feel?" there was no need for him to add 'about that' as it was implied.

"I know I shouldn't be, but I'm as nervous as a whore in a church!"

"Dean!" Sam admonished with a slightly guilty, but gleeful laugh.

Rapt, Keith watched the brothers tease each other. He admired their fearlessness. He envied their closeness. He badly wanted what they had.

Connor noticed his son watching the brothers and frowned. He needed to wipe that look off the boy's face quickly. He couldn't have him looking up to anyone but him. The boy was too powerful to lose control of.

Walking over to Dean, Connor asked pleasantly. "I must say I'm surprised to see you here! How are you feeling? Physically, I mean! None of that whore in church business!"

Dean was in pain. The headache this idiot had psychically given him was slowly receding and the pain from the curse hadn't reached the excruciating levels it had been at before the Percocet, but it was steadily getting there as the drug wore off. However, he wasn't going to give this asshole the satisfaction of knowing this.

"Peachy!" he answered with his trademark smirk.

A dark look crossed Connor's face. He stood, walked over to Dean and kicked him in the side. Dean gasped in pain and would have clutched his side if his hands were not secured.

"How about now?" Connor asked.

"Pretty sure I still feel better than you did when your nose got broken! What happened? Were you moronic enough to think your power allowed you to walk through walls?" Dean sneered having noticed the bruising around Connor's eyes and nose.

Connor glared when Sam answered with pride, "Actually, I did that!"

"Atta boy!" Dean said with even more pride.

Torn between which one to punish, Connor growled, "Keith!" and waved his hand to encompass both brothers.

Both were hit with those skull shattering headaches. "Fuck!" Dean yelled. Sam on the other hand made a guttural sound of pain and passed out. Keith's power affected him faster and more ferociously probably because he was psychically inclined as well.

Connor put up his hand in the stop signal and the pain stopped.

Turning to glare at Keith whose existence he'd not even been aware of until then, Dean growled, "Who are you? Thing one or Thing two? And what the hell did you do to him?"

It was Connor who answered. "Now that's my boy. His name is Keith. And he did to your brother the exact same thing he did to you. Your brother passed out because he is weak!" he tried to bait Dean into a reaction.

Dean refused to swallow the bait. Instead he turned the tables and taunted Connor. "Oh yeah? He's so weak you had to tie him up? And still, he managed to smash your nose in! No offence, but I think your definition of weak is absurd!"

Connor waved his hand again. The headache returned. Dean gasped. Connor stopped Keith again. "I'd watch my mouth if I were you." Connor suggested.

"Of course you would. You're a play it safe coward. Hell, you can't even inflict pain without your son's power!" Dean taunted. In answer, Connor got up and kicked him in the side again. Dean swore at the pain, but he'd take this pain any day over that brain attack.

"Now that we've gotten my abilities out of the way, I have something to ask." Connor turned the chair so it was facing Dean instead of Sam and sat down. "I'm really curious to know what you hoped to achieve by coming here?" He spoke pleasantly, but condescendingly, like one of those damn teachers who'd spoken to Dean like he was only one brain cell away from being a moron. Dean bristled with anger.

"He's my brother! What do you think I hoped to achieve?" his voice, though tinged with pain was low and dangerous.

Connor was not fazed at all. "I don't know. I never had any siblings. And I must say I don't think I'd have done something this foolhardy even if I'd had one. I mean look at you, you're dying. What were you planning to do?"

Dean briefly glanced at Sam then glared at Connor. "I came here to save him. Or die trying!" he added flippantly, then held his breath waiting for the punishment for his tone.

"Dean!" Sam whispered aghast. He'd woken up in time to catch his brother's answer. He knew that despite his tone, Dean was dead serious. Again, no pun intended. "What about …" He broke off, not wanting the madman who sat between them to know about Emily's existence. But he wanted Dean to know it wouldn't be fair to Emily if both her brothers died here. Dean couldn't give up. He had more to live for than Sam.

Of course Dean knew what Sam was going to say. He looked over Connor's shoulder and into his brother's eyes. "Sammy, I'm dying!" he said simply. The rest of the statement, left unsaid, but conveyed through the eyes, "You on the other hand are getting out of this, even if it kills me. You'll watch out for Mimi, and yourself."

"But …" Sam stopped again. There was no way to communicate to his brother that he'd reversed the spell. In fact, he wondered whether he had even reversed it. Dean was still in pain. That much was obvious.

"Hey!" Dean's eyes softened.

"Did no one ever teach you social etiquette? It's quite rude to start talking to someone else without ending a previous conversation first." Connor absolutely hated being ignored.

"Actually, no. We grew up on the road and were raised by TV and an etiquette deficient father. What's your excuse? Did you have no friends, or did no one ever tell you tying up your guests up was not socially accepted?" Dean answered.

Connor rose in a huff. He'd had it. This kid's smart mouth was really pissing him off. Dean drew back slightly, and Sam whispered his brother's name in fear.

Connor leaned obnoxiously close to Dean's face and loud whispered, "I'd slit your throat, but since you're already dying, I'll just let you watch as I gut your brother!"

Fuck, he hadn't thought of that consequence. He really should have watched his mouth. "Don't you dare touch him!" he growled.

"Or what?" Connor taunted.

Then a new voice froze all four of them.

"Hello? Honey? Where are you? Come on, stop playing. I know we haven't been together long so you probably don't know how much I despise hide and seek! Well, I'm telling you now. I totally hate hide and seek! Honey? Hey … this isn't funny you know!" Refusing to panic when Dean had been grabbed, Emily had looked for another way into the room but short of rappelling in from the roof, there was none. So obviously she had to go through the door the two men had carried her brother. The fact that there were two guys had thrown her for a loop but kept her from rushing in half cocked. The possibility that there could even be more than two men, had occurred to her as well and given her pause. And what the hell had they done to Dean? Yes, he'd been in pain before he'd entered the building, but he had seemed to be struck by a sudden vicious migraine that he hadn't had before. And she knew for a fact, he didn't get migraines. Neither of her brothers did. She wasn't sure how, but she knew those men had something to do with it. They had appeared awfully quick after he'd passed out. She wondered whether he or Sam were in any condition to back her up. Gosh, she really knew diddly squat, and it was for this reason that she needed to get into the room and check out the situation. She evidently couldn't just swing the door open and walk in, as that was more than likely to get her shot, and her brothers too. So the safest way to get in there was by appearing to pose no threat to her brother's captors, and the best and easiest way to achieve that was to announce her presence like a harmless ditz, and hope they came to get her. She stashed the extrema ratio knife back in her boot, got her butterfly knife from her jean pocket, slipped it in the cuff of her sweatshirt, then she called out airily and waited.

"Keith? Who is she?" Connor turned accusingly to his son.

Keith shrugged. He didn't know who that was. Why would his father even assume she was looking for him? Girls certainly never looked for him, they didn't even look at him, God knew he wished they would, but they never did. He glared at Dean. She was probably his girlfriend. He looked like the kind of guy who drew women in droves!

"Then why didn't you tell me she was here?"

Damn, he hadn't even thought of that peculiarity! He paled and began shaking his head in denial. He didn't want his father to think he was holding back. "No, it's not that, it's … I … I can't sense her!"

Connor's eyes glowed with anticipation. Another abomination? This town was certainly crawling with them. He turned to Dean, having reached the same conclusion as his son. "Who is she?"

Dean thought fast. He knew Emily had used honey instead of his name for a reason. He would try to play along. "That's just some random girl I hooked up with, but now she's fixated! I thought I'd ditched her! She must have followed me!"

"An abomination and a whore!" Connor mused. He couldn't belief his luck. This was by far his best holiday ever.

Dean's heart sunk. He could tell from Connor's tone that he'd probably achieved the exact opposite of what he had intended to. It was apparent that Emily was now firmly in Connor's sight.

"Go get her!" Connor commanded Keith. When his son left the room, Connor returned to his bag of goodies and retrieved one of the guns he'd taken off his captives. Since Keith couldn't subdue this abomination with his power, Connor wasn't going to take any chances until he was sure she wasn't a threat.

Emily made sure her back was turned to the door. When she heard a sound, she began talking without turning round. "Oh thank God, I was ge ... who are you?" she asked in mild curiosity when she finally turned around and saw Keith.

Keith just grabbed her. She tried to jerk her arm away, doing it halfheartedly of course, but he didn't know that. "Hey, let go of me!" she said indignantly, like a prissy princess who had been manhandled.

"Bitch, if you start making a fuss, I'll have to hurt you!"

Emily bit down on her lip to keep the laughter in. This puny guy was threatening her? Not only did she have him beat in the height department, she certainly had him beat in the muscle department too even though she wasn't packing Hulk-like muscles or anything. Besides, the way he was holding her arm, she'd have his shoulder twisted and out of joint in no time if she chose to. Yes, she could definitely take this idiot, but for now she needed to stow the brawn and use the brain. So she widened her eyes in growing horror, as she pretended to have finally caught on to what was happening.

"No, no, let go of me! Someone, please help me!"

The squeals of terror and outrage sounded so real that Sam and Dean strained at their bonds. Sam stopped immediately when the studs bit into his wrists, but Dean kept up his struggles a little longer before giving up. This Connor bastard had definitely been a boy scout. His knots were unbeatable.

"She's got nothing to do with this, you bastard!" he yelled at Connor.

The unmistakable sound of a slap carried into the room, making Connor smile in approval and Dean growl in anger.

Just beyond the door, feeling emboldened by the slap he had just delivered, Keith spoke, trying to mimic the low dangerous tone he'd heard Dean use. "There's no one here who can save you, okay? Now shut up!"

Immediately Emily stilled. Her hand went up to cup her cheek, then with tears welling in her eyes and her voice trembling querulously, she begged. "Please, let me go. I won't tell anyone, I swear!"

"Neither will I. My dad is waiting. Come on!" he said dragging her along.

"Sissy!" Emily thought uncharitably as she allowed herself to be dragged along.


	19. Chapter 19

Keith shoved her towards his father. She fell clumsily onto her knees and looked wildly around. It took absolutely everything in her power not to react to Sam's condition. "Dean must have hit the roof!" she thought grimly. Completely ignoring Sam she launched herself at Dean and hugged him and the beam, while wailing dramatically, "John! Thank God! What's going on, John?" She slipped him the butterfly knife.

Dean and Sam hid their shock well. Connor burst into amused laughter. "Oh my! You're so tragic, it's funny! You're fawning over a guy who didn't even tell you his real name!"

"What?" she whispered, looking from Dean to Connor.

"Yeah, in case you were wondering, it's Dean, not John!" Connor smiled. He enjoyed causing pain, physical, emotional, he didn't care.

Emily drew back from the hug in feigned scared confusion. "John? Is that true?" She managed to convey just the right amount of disbelief, hope, hurt and fear.

Dean hang his head, "Umm sorry!" he mumbled. The apology was completely heartfelt, though for a different reason. He was apologizing for the rough handling she'd suffered. He could clearly see the handprint Keith's slap had left on her face and of course the split lip was hard to miss.

She seemed to freeze for a moment, in total shock, then she slapped him. "You bastard!" she hissed. Then she scrambled backwards, away from him stopping just in front of Connor.

Dean had the knife, now all she had do was wait for him to cut himself free and pray he did so before the situation escalated. She still had to keep up the helpless terrified act of course, so she raised big scared eyes to Connor. "Are you going to let me go?" she asked fearfully, hopefully.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. Can't do that!"

"What … what do you want from me?"

"Me? Nothing! I want absolutely nothing from you. God on the other hand, wants to punish you for your sins!"

"What does that mean?"

"It means you're going to die."

Her voice was high pitched in fear. "No, please. I'm sorry!"

"How I wish it were that simple!"

She buried her face in her hands and began to cry; heartrending sobs that would have broken anyone's heart. There were no tears of course, hence the hiding of her face.

"Hey, just let her go. You've got us." Sam begged feelingly.

"She's just a girl!" Dean added.

"No, she's an abomination and a whore!" Connor decreed. In his book those were more than enough reasons for her to die. To be punished.

With a whimper, Emily scooted away from Connor and closer to Keith as if deciding he was the lesser of the two evils. She curled protectively into herself, holding her knees up to her chest, and began to rock back and forth. Every so often, she threw scared, accusatory glances at Dean. The looks were so convincing that Dean found himself actually beginning to feel guilty. Damn the kid was good. Also, when she wasn't pretend hating Dean with her eyes, she was looking at Sam with a mixture of pity and curiosity and kinship, like she was wondering how this poor unknown stranger had gotten himself in such a predicament, while at the same time commiserating with him for being in a similar plight as she was.

Bolstered by her reaction to him and the situation, Connor turned to Dean and grinned with malice. "I must say I don't envy you right now!" he taunted.

"Well, that says a lot about your taste … or lack of it!" Dean was undaunted.

Connor frowned. Right then he decided he would break this kid before he died. He turned to Emily. "Come here!"

Her eyes widened in terror. Now there was a look he approved of. Why couldn't this Dean boy act the same? The girl did not move. It was to be expected. She was terrified after all.

"I said, come here! Don't make me come get you!" he yelled threateningly. With a cutoff sob, she scrambled to her feet and in jerky reluctant movements made her way to him. When she was close enough, he reached out and grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. The hiss of pain Emily made this time was not pretend.

Connor flicked off the gun safety and put the gun to her head. She held her breath. He turned to Dean.

"Right, now we're going to play a really simple game called 'who dies fast!' and you my friend are the lucky player. Now ... what is going to happen is, they're both going to die, we know that, but the one you choose dies first, and on the plus side, they'll die fast. Bullet to the head fast. The other one, well, not so fast. I'll draw out the pain until they literally beg to die. So do you understand the rules?"

"Screw you!" Dean growled.

"I'll take that as a yes then! So who gets the bullet? The bitch or the brother?"

As he said brother, Connor swung the gun intending to point it at Sam. As soon as it left Emily's head, Dean winked at her. That was the signal. His hands were free.

Everything happened so fast, that all three would later recall the events in surreal disbelief. Dean and Emily hadn't needed to communicate a plan. It was a no-brainer that she would go for Keith since she was the only one not affected by his power, and obviously Dean would subdue Connor, as Keith would be too busy with Emily to launch a telepath attack on Dean. But even the best laid plans never really work out the way they're conceived, so it was to be expected that their non-plan even though it worked, would go awry, but not the way it did.

If Connor had been holding her by the neck, Emily would have had to use a different, slightly more difficult move, but fortunately, the arrogant jerk was holding her by the hair. Suddenly swiveling left, she spun her whole body into Connor's arm throwing off his aim, and she grabbed his arm in a lock twist move. Connor, who had not been expecting the teary, timid girl to attempt anything, was thrown off balance but he still discharged the gun before the girl's wicked twist made him drop it. Since her part of the plan was to disarm Connor then let Dean take him on while she neutralised Keith, Emily smashed her right elbow in his face, feeling a brief moment of guilty elation at his howl of pain, then she dropped and rolled. She briefly heard Sam yell, "Dean!" but she didn't stop moving. She came out of the roll and into a crouch, her knife at the ready. Her intention was to lunge at Keith but instead she found herself watching in shock as he fell, an unmistakable bullet hole in his head.

Later Emily would remember how small the hole appeared, how inconsequential, and how the wall behind Keith looked like it had been painted in realistic gore, but now, she didn't have time as Connor's anguished howl became an outraged bellow drawing her attention away from Keith. She turned. Her heart thudded in her throat when she saw Dean unmoving on the floor. Connor, just beginning to recover from the hit he'd taken was scrambling to reach the gun. She didn't have time to wonder what had happened to Dean in such a short space of time. If Connor got to that gun, one Winchester or more was going to die. Without thought she lunged at Connor. They rolled over once, not like that dramatic endless rolling of TV fights. Emily remembered Bobby's words about how many fights ended up going to the ground. "Down, don't mean out!" she remembered. She was glad he had disabused her contentment at being a good karate fighter. She fought like he'd taught her; fast and dirty, no holding back. Any other day, Connor wouldn't have been a worthy adversary, he had no skill at all, but today, fueled and blinded by anger, and righteous wrath he managed to get quite a few good, lucky hits. Resisting the urge to curl in pain when his metal capped boots got her in the side and when he punched her in the eye, and when his secéspita sliced into her leg, she scraped on. This was survival not just for her but for her brothers too. The tussle lasted just under four minutes but it felt like an hour long match. When she finally knocked him out with a blow to his temple with the butt of the gun she'd managed to get only because he'd forgotten about it in his fury, she lay there for a moment to catch her breath.

The first words out of her mouth when she did, were her brothers' names, whispered with despair. All through the fight, Emily had been thinking of her brothers. What the hell had happened to them? All she knew was that Sam had yelled Dean's name, then gone completely quiet after and Dean was on the floor not moving. Her back had been to them when they'd gone down, so she could only speculate. She knew only one gunshot had rang out, but her mind supplied scary scenarios; maybe a ricochet had hit Sam, and maybe Connor had stabbed Dean with the secéspita. She didn't think Keith had gotten to them. His death had been too quick, and too unexpected. He hadn't had time to project a thought, let alone time to brain zap her brothers.

She vacillated for a moment, torn between them, then finally she scrabbled over to Dean. He was closer. With her heart thudding in her throat, she carefully rolled him onto his back and run her hands over him. He had a bump on his forehead where he'd hit the floor, but it was small, and his pupils were responsive, allaying her fears that he might have a concussion. His sides and wrists were also bruised. However, besides that, there was nothing else, no bleeders, no broken bones, no unexpected swelling evidencing internal bleeding, no clear fluid coming out of his nose or ears that would suggest an alarming effect of the psychic headache; there was absolutely nothing to cause alarm. Well, nothing, if one discounted the fact that he was out cold and his breathing though even, was shallow as if he was taking in only the minimum necessary air needed to keep him alive! Trying to wake him proved useless, and Emily knew she needed to secure Connor and get herself and her brothers away from the scene.

It was only then that she noticed the cut on her thigh. It was bleeding copiously, but surprisingly and a little alarmingly, she felt no pain. She hoped it was adrenaline making this possible, otherwise, she was in trouble. She picked the ropes that had been around Dean's wrists and used them to tie Connor. Then she patted him down until she found the keys to the cuffs holding Sam. Before she went to him, she detoured by Connor's goody bag and got bandages. She wrapped one round her thigh and then went to Sam. She released him from the hold of the cuffs and had to catch him then lower him slowly to the ground. She wrapped his wrists and chest as best as she could, surprised and grateful that all the wounds he had were not that deep.

When she was done, she sat back on her heels and rested her forehead on his chest for a couple of seconds. Even though she hated to admit it, she couldn't contain the situation alone anymore. One of her brothers needed to wake up. She couldn't carry them both to the car. Hell, she didn't even know where the car was. There was no way they were using the clunker again! As Sam was the one who knew where the impala was, he was lucky contestant number one. It took about a minute for her to rouse him.

"Are you okay? What about Dean?" were the first words he groaned when he woke.

"I'm fine, but Dean, umm ... he looks okay, but I couldn't wake him." Emily reported, the slight shaking of her voice the only indication of her inner turmoil. She watched Sam closely as he sat up, and rubbed his forehead. Frowning in worry, she handed him his shirts and jacket. "Are you okay?"

"I've got one hell of a headache. It's like I took a shot to the h…" he trailed off and his eyes wandered until they landed on Keith's body. "Oh!"

Emily refused to look at Keith and she couldn't quite meet Sam's eyes anymore. "We need to get out of here. Could you get Dean? I'll get the guns and pick up the shells." Of course there was no way she was going to try and recover the spent bullet. She wasn't getting near the mess that was Keith's head, for anything.

Sam swayed when he got up, but he steadied himself quickly. Emily decided then that she was going to have to drive. Sam run his hands over Dean the same way Emily had done and seemed to come to the same conclusion as she had. Dean was fine, discounting the fact that he was unconscious.

Sam awkwardly hoisted Dean to his feet and Emily rushed to help. Sam noticed she was limping. "You're hurt!" he exclaimed.

"A shiner, bruises and a cut. I think I got off lightly considering I was in a fight with a 170 pounds madman."

"That cut doesn't look light." Sam argued.

"I feel fine. Let's get back to the motel first. You parked the car. I have no idea where you left it."

"How did you two get here?"

"Dean stole a car!" Emily spoke in a duh tone.

"Where is it?"

"Out back."

"Good. We'll drive out to the impala." Sam did not think the two of them could have carried Dean to where the impala was without one of them crashing to the floor.

They shuffled slowly to the stolen car. Despite the seriousness of their situation, Sam couldn't help snorting a laugh when he saw the Plymouth his siblings had driven. "Seriously, did you guys go back in time and steal this thing from the set of the Brady Bunch?"

Emily who didn't think she had a smile in her at that moment, found herself laughing so hard, she almost dropped Dean. They put him in the back seat and Sam connected the wires again and the car started much to their relief. The transfer to the impala was smooth and soon they were on their way to their motel. They stopped at the first public phone they found and anonymously called and directed the police to the factory.

Back at the motel, they dropped Dean on the bed and Sam rolled him to the centre. He was so uncharacteristically pliant that it was scary. In silent despair, Sam run his hands through his hair, watched Dean for a moment then turned to Emily who had sat down at the bed's edge. "Let's take care of that leg."

"Nah, you first. You've got more injuries than I do."

"The wounds in my wrists hurt like a bitch but they're not bleeding that much. Neither are the ones in my side. Connor wasn't trying to kill me yet; bloody bastard just wanted to inflict pain. You on the other hand are bleeding like a stuck pig, and considering how small you are, I'm not sure that's a good thing."

"Not many people consider me small, Lurch!" Emily disagreed with a faint smile.

Sam laughed. "So, not the point I was making!"

"Stuck pigs don't bleed that much!"

"That wasn't the point either!"

"Really, I'm fine with going second."

"Hey we might not be in polite society but some rules still apply. Ladies first." Sam insisted.

Emily was beginning to feel weary and truthfully, she felt a little lightheaded. "Fine!" she gave in with a tired murmur.

"Great! Here, wear my shirt and go sit over there. The light is better there."

"What?" Emily asked holding up the shirt and looking quizzically at Sam.

"Its longer than yours. It'll come down lower."

"So?"

"Did you get hit in the head?" Sam asked with real concern.

"No. I'm fine I just don't see the relevance of a longer shirt."

"Rae, you're going to have to remove your jeans, for me to get to that wound."

"Okay," she said automatically, but still having not understood. Then a moment later, she did. "Oh! That makes sense. Sorry I'm spacing out." She took off her sweatshirt and tee and wore Sam's shirt over her tank. The shirt came to midthigh. She removed the bandage she had tied over the wound, and shimmied out of her jeans.

"Here." He handed her a couple of Tylenol pills.

She shook her head. "No. You know those make me drowsy."

"So?" It was his turn to ask.

"So I won't be able to help when it's your turn."

"Rae, my wounds basically just need cleaning and dressing. Nothing drastic. I can even do it myself." Sam said laying out gauze, bandages, antibiotic cream and saline solution.

"Yeah, you can probably do your wrists yourself, but the other wounds are in an awkward spot. You'll need my help. I'll be okay without the drugs. My adrenaline is still pumping, I can't even feel the wound. It should get me through."

Sam looked her in the eye, saw the sheer determination there and knew they would argue the whole night if he insisted. "Suit yourself," he said a little shortly. He went to the bathroom and wet a wash cloth, on returning, he knelt in front of Emily, and gingerly wiped away the blood. His eyes bugged out in horror and he had to bite down on his lip to keep the gasp in. The wound itself was bad enough that it wouldd need suturing but what had horrified him was how close she'd come to death and didn't even know it. Had the knife gone just one more millimeter to the right, it would have cut her femoral artery. She would have bled out and died. Sam stood and added the suture kit to the pile he had laid out. Then with visibly shaking hands, he poured saline solution in the wound to clean it out.

Emily flinched, bit back a gasp and blinked back tears. "What do you think happened to Dean?" she asked to distract herself.

It took a second for Emily's words to register over his mind's litany of 'she could have died!' Before speaking, Sam coughed to clear his throat that had constricted painfully. "I don't know, but I have a theory."

"Yeah?"

"Remember how Marilyn said the curse could be gotten rid of?"

"Yeah. Taken back, reversed, or through death of the curser." Emily recited.

"Exactly. Keith died…"

"So the curse should have lifted!" she interrupted.

"But Connor didn't!" Sam finished.

"You think they cursed him together?"

"Connor was a control freak. I'm sure he wouldn't let Keith carry out such a major thing on his own."

"So if they cursed Dean together and one is dead and one isn't, he's stuck in limbo?"

"Yeah that's what I think."

"Wait, so he's going to stay like this?" Emily's voice was high pitched in distress.

"Not for long I hope." Sam spoke evenly even though a ripple of fear had just gone through him.

"But you said…"

"I know what I said. But back there, I reversed the curse, so I'm hoping it'll work."

"I thought the reversal was immediate?" Emily's eyes narrowed.

"Well, I thought so too." Sam admitted. "But I guess since it takes a week to kill, it takes awhile to reverse too."

"So he's going to be like this for a week?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"That is going to suck."

"Yeah," Sam got up and returned to the bathroom to wash his hands and the wash cloth.

"That's it?" Emily glanced down to find her thigh wrapped up.

"Yep, all done."

"Awesome. Your turn!" She hobbled to her bag and slipped on her pajama bottoms. Tonight, she was going to skip her before bed shower.

"You sound so gleeful, Wednesday!" Sam said in retaliation for her Lurch comment.

She laughed as she knelt in front of him. He refused the Tylenol too. "We'll take them together when you're done."

"Sounds like a suicide pact!" she laughed.

"Not funny!" he said with feeling remembering Dean's words in the factory. Her smile slipped at his tone. She vaguely wondered what had happened in the room before her arrival. She knew asking was useless. Neither brother would tell her if they weren't ready to share. She concentrated on cleaning out and dressing the wounds.

"You did good today." Sam suddenly said into the silence. True, she had been equal parts rash, and impetuous, foolhardy and gutsy, but that was the stuff Winchesters were made of.

"Thanks." Emily didn't raise her head. "I was motivated," she murmured a little while later.

"Still, Dean is going to kill you when he wakes up. You know that, right?"

"He's going to kill us both!" Emily snorted as she stood up. "But if we clean the impala, maybe he'll settle for just kicking our asses!"

They shared a chummy laugh, swallowed the Tylenol and antibiotics and cleared away the supplies. Emily took the shirt off and handed it back to Sam, then she whispered goodnight to him. She touched Dean's cheek briefly before heading for her cot. Sam turned off the light. The darkness cut off her view of her brothers and for a second she forgot how to breathe. "They're okay. They're okay. They're just a few steps away." she coached herself. Unable to get comfortable, she tossed and turned, swallowing a groan with each movement. She hurt everywhere. How was that even possible? And why wasn't the Tylenol working? Was Dean really going to be okay? Then out of the darkness, the blessed suggestion came. "That cot must be the pits. You want to share this awesome double-queen bed?" Sam asked with a smile in his voice.

Emily bounded over so fast, that Sam almost pinched her to make sure she was not a spirit. He suppressed a chuckle when he heard her sigh in relief and contentment after she'd settled herself on the other side of Dean.

"Goodnight Sam. Love you!" she whispered.

Sam swallowed a lump before speaking. "Love you too kiddo."

Both were asleep in no time.


	20. Chapter 20

_"Why did you kill me? I just wanted to be loved! I was just doing what my father wanted me to. I wanted to make him proud. Why did you kill me?" Keith, his head destroyed by the bullet, his eyes dead and unblinking, edged his way to Emily who kept backing away until she hit what could only be a wall._

She whimpered, rousing Sam from a blessedly dreamless sleep. At first he thought she might be in pain, but then she began sobbing, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I swear. It was just an accident!" That was when he knew she was having a bad dream. He turned on the nightstand lamp. Even though Dean was out, Sam considered it uncharitable to reach over him, so he had to physically get out of the bed and go round to Emily's side.

In the dream, Keith reached Emily, and grabbed her. In the waking world, Sam attempted to wake her. She fought him off, so he tried to hold her in his arms. "Let me go!" she screamed and fought even harder. Scared, Sam had no choice but to capture her legs under his and hold her wrists, calling her name loudly and begging her to wake up. If anything her panic got worse. She bucked violently, almost succeeding in throwing him to the floor and tried to prise her hands free. Transferring her wrists so he could hold both in one hand, Sam gently tapped her cheek, still calling her name. When that didn't work, he sighed with regret and slapped her hard.

With a cry, her eyes flew open. They were wide and wild with fear, and it took a moment for her to focus on Sam. When she did, Emily held out her arms like a child looking to be comforted and without hesitation, Sam drew her into his arms. She shook with sobs.

"I killed him. He was just a kid!" That Keith had been older than her did not matter.

Sam held her close as she cried, and murmured soothing words in her ear as he stroked her hair and back. He had known it would hit, it was just a matter of when. There had been no tears when she'd killed what she'd called a caucus, when she had helped get rid of a poltergeist, and when she had assisted on the numerous salts and burns after, but Sam knew those hunts had been guilt-free because those creatures were well, creature-like. Guilt and trauma however tended to hit and hit hard if the creature was human like, for example he knew that getting rid of a shape shifter was distressing to say the least. He could still remember with horror, the dead eyes of the Dean shapeshifter. So if killing a human-like creature was haunting, Sam could only imagine what killing an actual human being could do. How it would torment a person. No matter what, she would never be the same again. He would never have wanted this for anyone, definitely not for his sister. It broke his heart to feel Emily shuddering from her sobs as she attempted to purge the terror of the nightmare from her mind.

"Hey, you didn't kill him. Connor was holding that gun, not you."

"But if I hadn't pushed Connor ..." the childlike cadence she used reminded Sam that his sister had not only just left childhood behind, but a normal life too.

"He'd have killed you and Dean. And me. You did what you had to do to survive and to protect us, Keith's death was an unfortunate tragic accident that resulted from that. It wasn't your fault." He leaned back slightly and tilted her chin so he could look her in the eyes. The red rimmed, glassy orbs were still leaking tears, and it tore a hole in his heart. He gently brushed the tears from her cheeks, then still cupping her face, he repeated, "It wasn't your fault. Okay?" She nodded and swallowed, attempting to quell the sobs. "No, cry it out, don't hold it in, okay. I just don't want you blaming yourself is all!" He placed a kiss on her brow then gathered her to him once more.

Finally the sobs faded into irregular hitches of breath and sniffs. Sam leaned back again, looked her in the face and extricated himself. Emily didn't mean to, but she released a cry of protest when Sam got up. "I'll be right back!" he said. She felt like a child when she realised he'd rightly guessed the cause of her alarm, but she didn't care. He returned with the toilet roll and a wet wash cloth.

"You're all snotty and we're fresh out of tissue!" he explained the roll.

Emily laugh sounded more like a strangled sob and she tore a sheaf off the roll and noisily blew her nose. She wrapped it up in more paper and lobbed it in the general direction of the waste paper basket.

"She aims, she shoots," Sam stopped for effect, "she misses!"

Emily laughed outright this time and decked him in the arm. His yowl was theatrical and loud and made Emily snicker even more. Her weird laugh as usual made him laugh and his just as weird laugh made her laugh more and soon they were rolling over themselves in tears of laughter. When they'd laughed themselves into stomach aches, they stopped; hiccuping occasionally and smiling. Emily took the wash cloth and wiped her face.

"Thanks!" she said feelingly.

Sam ducked his head shyly. "No need to thank me."

"I know. And that's precisely why I'm thanking you."

Sam smiled and bumped her with his shoulder then made a grab for her when she almost toppled off the bed. He left his arm looped around her shoulder, and smiled even wider when her arm snaked around his waist, and she leaned into him.

It was a while before he noticed she was leaning heavily. She was dozing. "Okay. Bed time. Again!" he said startling her.

"Oh! Okay." she said rather unenthusiastically.

Sam immediately intuited why. She didn't want him to go, even though it was just to the other side of the bed, and Dean would be right there next to her. She needed more reassurance. She needed him. It was funny how strong that made him feel; stronger than he felt on hunts, stronger than he'd felt in a while. So without a word, he gently rolled Dean towards the empty side of the bed to create space for himself. Emily did not say anything either, but the relief and gratitude in her eyes was hard to miss. Sam had no choice but to reach over Dean to turn off the light.

Emily curled into him, and the exhaustion combined with the comfort of having him close allowed her to drift off to sleep.

Sam reached out and placed a hand on Dean's chest, and was reassured by it's warmth and it's slight rising and falling. Glad that both his siblings were safe, Sam said a prayer of thanks and fell asleep.

He woke first, had a shower, ducking ridiculously to fit under the spray and vowing to use the bath next time, then he went to get breakfast. He got meals for three, a force of habit he couldn't break. In Sam's absence, Emily had rolled over and snuggled into Dean. They were so close that their contrasting hair colour was the only way Sam knew where one started and the other ended. He watched them for a moment, amazed by how sleep stripped them of their defences and uncovered a vulnerability they both desperately tried to hide when they were awake. "Idiots!" he whispered fondly.

* * *

Emily woke up with a groan. How was it possible that she was in more pain than last night? Her left eye had swollen shut this morning. Alerted and alarmed by the sound, Sam was over by her side in a flash, feeling her forehead and cheeks. "I don't have a fever!" she grouched. The pain was not making her charitable.

"No you don't. But I bet you're sore." Sam said taking in her bruised arms, the swollen black eye and the busted lip.

"I'm not sore. I'm dying!" she moaned.

"A bath should help." Sam smiled. "Want me to run you one?"

"As awesome as that would be, no. I'll do it myself."

"Don't confuse me with Dean, I know how to run a bath. I lived with Jess for a year you know!" Sam laughed having easily deciphered her reluctance at letting him run the bath.

For a second, Emily held her breath. Sam hardly spoke about his late girlfriend and whenever he said her name, rarely and usually in passing, Emily froze, waiting for more, but he never said more. He wasn't forthcoming this time either. Realising that was all he was going to give, Emily released the breath.

"Fine. Run it. It's going to take me agonisingly long to pull myself out of this bed anyway!"

"You know, you should have stretched before going to bed last night!" Sam tossed the comment behind his back as he disappeared into the bathroom.

"Bite me!"

"Maybe after your bath!" Sam laughed. Emily grinned and crawled out of the bed.

She wrapped about four layers of plastic wrap around the bandage on her thigh, making it more waterproof by wrapping surgical tape at the ends. "Told you this would come in handy!" she smirked at Sam waving the tape. He hadn't wanted to take it during their hospital heist.

"Smart ass!" Sam grouched.

She took her coffee with her to the bathroom and soaked for twenty glorious minutes. She did feel a lot better when she emerged, though she still took a couple of Tylenol after. Sam had to foist a second dose of antibiotics on her.

* * *

"Sam?" Emily's voice broke the silence that had taken over the room for two hours.

"Mmm?" he answered distractedly not looking up from his laptop.

"Why do you suppose Keith couldn't see me?"

"Probably because of your ring. Why?"

"No reason" she dismissed. Glancing down at the ring, she began worrying it with her left hand. Finally, she couldn't hold onto what she'd been thinking the whole morning. "You don't suppose it had something to do with me, do you?"

Sam's head shot up. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's just that … well, I know John is biologically my father, but do you think I could be … well, not human? I mean John wasn't exactly himself when he met Celeste!"

Crap on sticks. "Of course you're human!" Sam said adamantly.

"How can you be so sure?"

"The tests proved you're our sister and the last I checked, Dean and I are human!"

"Okay that, but what if I'm not completely human?"

"You think you're a demi-human or something? Are you sure you didn't hit your head last night?"

"That guy called me an abomination!"

"Because he thought you and Dean were …"

"No, for that he called me a whore. The abomination part was different!" Emily insisted.

"Connor was a madman, okay? Keith couldn't sense you because your ring keeps you cloaked. Remember? That's what Bobby said, even before this hunt started, so obviously he wasn't just saying that to comfort you."

"But haven't you ever wondered?"

Sam pursed his lips remembering the strange meeting with Cece when he and Dean had been trying to understand their father's actions. "Before we met you, yes, but not since." he finally admitted. Emily's shoulders slumped only slightly but Sam noticed. "You know, Connor called me an abomination too. Said I was one of his children!" he added, partly wanting to share solidarity with his freaked out sister, and partly because he had been dying to share that with someone, as it had left him with questions too. Only he had been planning on telling Dean; big brother always had an answer to make him feel better.

"His? Connor's?" Emily's eyes bugged out.

"No, I kind of got the sense he was talking about someone else."

"Who?"

"He didn't say."

"You think there could be some truth to his sanity? I mean I thought my biological mom was crazy when I first read her letters, but she wasn't."

"You know what? Maybe! Maybe you and I are different from other people, maybe we've got some weird powers, I don't know, but there's one thing I'm sure of."

"What?"

"We're not the bad guys."

"I guess we're not." Emily sighed thinking of Keith.

"That wasn't your fault." Sam said, easily guessing what she was thinking.

"Are you a mind reader now?" she groused, but the smile in her voice was hard to miss.

He had made her smile, brought her back from despair, twice now. Wow, he was getting good at this big brother gig. "No, but I know you." Sam smiled. "You're a bleeding heart!"

"Not any more than you are!"

Later that evening, their world, which was yet to return to its axis was once again rocked, though they weren't really surprised since the circumstances of this hunt meant they'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop since they'd left the factory. They were cleaning the weapons, a major feat considering Emily almost hyperventilated when she saw the guns and remembered the hole in Keith's head. Sam had first coached her into breathing and then coaxed her into helping. Then they'd worked in companionable silence since then, the activity surprisingly cathartic. They had turned the TV on earlier as they had lunch and left it on because neither was willing to move the few inches to pick the remote. Neither was paying that much attention to the TV's sound, so by the time the story registered in each one's mind, it had progressed along.

'… The Police now have reason to believe that Connor Foley, a man they captured last night is the 'Carver killer'. Sources say the Police acted on an anonymous tip that led to Foley's capture. His twenty-one year old son, Keith was shot and killed by police during the operation, but it isn't yet clear whether he was his father's accomplice or he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. We'll keep you updated on this story as we get more information. And in our other stories …'

"Great! Just great!" Sam cursed.

"We've got to leave, don't we?" Emily asked resignedly. They always left town after a job, but never because their case had made the news. Well, except for that shape-shifter case, but she hadn't been there for that. So this was kind of new for her, but not wholly unexpected since they're the ones who had called in the tip.

Sam did not answer immediately as he thought about what to do. Finally he spoke. "We can't. At least not yet." He saw Emily startle and then open her mouth, so he quickly beat her to the punch. "Dean," he explained. "Until he's awake, I don't think we should leave this town. Besides, the police have their man, so I doubt they'll be looking for someone else."

"They will Sam. Maybe they won't want us as suspects, but they'll definitely look for us. They'll want to know what happened. I mean, think back to the scene. We left one man dead, another bound, handcuffs with your blood on them, my blood on the floor, fingerprints, not to mention, we took the gun and the shell. We left them with a bloody mystery, they'll want to solve it. Besides, if Connor is being considered a serial killer, the FBI is undoubtedly going to get involved. We need to leave."

Sam was most concerned about the fingerprints. He knew Connor, boastful and believing himself to be God's instrument would arrogantly explain the scene and what had happened, to the Police, effectively talking his way to a psychiatric prison in the process, besides, he had not gotten their real names. However, if prints were lifted at the scene, and obviously they had or would, that would cause the three of them problems. Dean was already in the system, as a dead criminal, and his prints showing up at a crime scene months later was not going to go down well with the law. Emily was virtually a missing person; she hadn't had any contact with anyone from her past life in such a long time, it was highly likely her absence had been reported. As for himself, well Sam couldn't say what they had on him, but he was pretty sure he was in the system too. Hopefully under a fake name, but in there nevertheless. Still, running was not going to solve anything. This was not going to wrap itself up conveniently like the shape-shifter case had. If they wanted to stay under the radar, they had to do something themselves.

"If we leave, they'll come after us."

"What are you saying? You want to take a stand? This is the law Sam!" Emily was incredulous.

"Exactly! And we've taken down more scary monsters right?"

"Well, but …" Emily trailed off in thought. In effect, she had chosen this life. Yes, that reaver had introduced her to the supernatural in an explosion of pain, blood and fear, but it was she who had made the decision to become a hunter. She liked hunting, probably loved it even, but it came with non-hunt related challenges she'd not even considered in her hotheaded decision. Things like constantly worrying about her brothers, missing her guitar, lumpy cot beds, showering at sinks in public bathrooms when they were on the move, cold showers in some of the questionable motel rooms they'd rented, lack of privacy, no happy clothes, the list was endless. She'd faced hunts with grit even when she was terrified and wanted to run screaming in the opposite direction. She'd faced the non-hunt challenges without fussing even when she was sorely tempted to do so. Really, if she could share a room with Dean, one of the messiest, grossest people to ever walk the earth, without protesting or killing him, then she could take on anything. She was an Avis Raines Winchester after all; if she could live with it, she tried her best to do so. This new development was just another of those unexpected challenges. She took a deep breath. "Okay. What do you suggest we do?"

* * *

At midnight, Sam dropped Emily at the Police station and drove to the factory. It always amazed her how relaxed small towns were, down to the lax security. It had been easy to sneak into the hospital, and now breaking into the police station was only marginally harder. Of course it helped that a frantic call had cleared the station of all but two night duty officers. The two officers left were not doing rounds, secure in the fact that there was no one in the cells who might try to break out. Breaking in was not a problem they'd ever faced or even thought about. Still, Emily's heart was beating wildly and a voice in her head was shrieking in panic, "I'm going to get caught! I'm going to go to prison!" and it wouldn't let up. She went to the Chief's office and straight to his computer. Getting in was easy. The man's password was a joke; it hadn't been changed from the original that the computer came with. This had tickled Emily so much, she'd forgotten to be afraid.

She wasn't really surprised to find that the only things on file were a report from the arresting officer, Connor Foley's statement, the video of the interview and its subsequent transcription; evidently, the evidence collected hadn't been processed yet. She knew this happened quite often; unlike on TV shows, evidence was rarely processed straight off the street, unless circumstances called for expediting processing like in cases of a missing child or lately, terrorism.

Emily played the video of the interview as she read through the short but concise arresting officer's report. There was nothing incriminating in either the report or the statement. Throughout his whole statement, Connor had called Sam an abomination, and Dean the abomination's brother, but when he'd been pressed, he'd given their names as Sam and Dean Raines. This had made Emily smile. Connor had also not gotten her name. In the report he'd alternated between calling her a whore and an abomination, something for which Emily was now very glad. Also, the man had told the Police everything! But from his standpoint of course. And in that, he was the thwarted hero, and Keith his fallen comrade. The abominations had gotten away, but at least the brother had died. When asked why he was so sure yet there was no evidence of another death aside from Keith's, Connor had told the officer it was because of the curse. By the end of the questioning, even if she couldn't see the officer, from his voice, she could practically hear his eyes rolling in derision. No wonder Connor had been carted off to an institution.

Even though it was redundant since Connor could just make another statement and the officer could write a new report, Emily deleted and shredded the files. Then she went to the evidence room, picked the lock, located the box with the evidence from the Foley case and left the station with it. She walked two blocks to the rendezvous point and waited for Sam.

* * *

Sam drove to the factory. He had left half his heart back in the motel room with Dean and the other half with Emily at the Police station. He knew only a human assailant could get to Dean in that room since he and Emily, had drawn every conceivable ward and sigil on the walls and floor of the room to keep anything away. However, that hadn't stopped him from worrying and it was on his suggestion that they had stashed Dean in the closet. If Dean ever found out about that transgression, he'd declare himself an only child for sure. As for Emily, he knew she could handle the assignment he had given her. She was stealthy and fast, and she was a good hack, and the station was mostly empty owing to her superb damsel in dire distress phone call. If things went well, she'd be okay. But they were Winchesters, things rarely went well for them. Turned out today was the exception to their perennial bad luck, because Sam found no sentinel at the factory despite it being a crime scene. He ducked under the yellow tape and into the factory. The fire had to start in the incriminating room just in case it was put out before destroying the whole factory. He felt a twinge of guilt as he doused the room in petrol; this was yet another crime in a long list of lawbreaking. To think he'd once thought he'd ever have a normal life.

By the time the fire was large enough to notice, Sam had wiped down the Plymouth and was picking up his beanie, glove clad, all in black cliché sister. By the time the first responders got to the scene, the two of them were back in their room, so far removed from the scene, it was impossible to tie them to it. They were both amazed they'd gotten away with it, and proud they'd contained the situation. They retrieved Dean from the closet.

That night, Emily did not need an invitation to share the huge bed with her brothers. With Dean between them, she and Sam talked until 2 am. The topic, the favourite place either one had ever been. Emily's was her family cabin, a place she promised to take her brothers one day, and Bobby's because of all the books and cars and intrigue and Bobby and Rumsfeld. Sam's was Bobby's for the same reasons, and The French Quarter in New Orleans. They'd gone as kids, and in retrospect, John must have been on a hunt. Sam had not really noticed his father's absence then, in fact, he realised now that he had been a rather self-absorbed child who didn't care about anything else as long as he had Dean, food and TV. Emily smiled and told him not to cut himself up over it. "All kids that age are self-absorbed. I know I was."

In the darkness, both smiled, wished each other goodnight and went to sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

"There must be something we can do!" Sam run a hand through his hair, in agitation. The undercurrent of worry and fear in the room was palpable. It was now seven days since they'd stopped Connor, six days since the police station breach and the factory fire that had left the police humiliated and in a rage. But with no leads, the rage did not translate into action. Sam and Emily had followed the news diligently and had been relieved they'd not missed anything that would lead the police to them. So they were not worried or scared of the police, or even the FBI who had nothing to go on and had just come to the town mostly to tell off the police for their mishandling of the case. The worry and fear was because Dean was still out. Sam had had to return to the hospital to get more supplies. He had fitted Dean with an IV and a catheter, something that had freaked Emily out. Since the original curse had been meant to kill Dean in a week, Sam had projected that the reverse spell would take a week to work. But this was the seventh day and Dean was not waking up. What if he never did?

Emily looked up from her book. Sam was now pacing the room with his hands laced on top of his head. She was feigning a calm she did not feel. She and him had an unspoken rule where only one of them was allowed to fall apart at a time. When she was the one overwhelmed and panicking, Sam was unflappable. A certified Dr. Ice. Seemed like it was her turn today.

"What do you propose we do, Sam?" Subconsciously she reached out a hand and run it through Dean's hair.

Her reasonable, let's think logically and not emotionally for a second tone made Sam briefly stop his pacing. He glanced over at the bed. Emily barely left Dean's side, only moving for bathroom and food breaks. She'd even wanted to have her meals there, but Sam drew the line at that. He didn't want to share the bed with cockroaches along with his siblings. He noticed Emily's unaware gesture and it made him wonder whether she was trying to infuse her life force with Dean's, or whether she was trying to ground him here with them and keep him from checking out, or whether she was comforting him or comforting herself. It struck him that his and her positions today were a reversal of yesterday's.

"What if he doesn't wake up?"

"He will!" Emily said with so much conviction, Sam stopped pacing again to stare at her in surprise. Dean did that sometimes, spoke with conviction even when his mind was teeming with doubt. Emily was channeling Dean!

"Maybe we should call Bobby." he suggested.

"We promised we wouldn't."

"He'd never know!" Sam said of Dean.

"But we would, and Bobby would." Emily admonished.

"So you'd rather he dies?" Sam's voice was getting louder.

"He's not going to die."

"How do you know?" He was even louder than before.

"I don't, okay! I'm trying to be positive!" Emily snapped. "Besides, you made the stupid promise first. I just followed your lead!"

"Oh, oh, so now you're blaming me for all of this!"

"Dammit, I'm not blaming you! I'm just saying!"

It was amazing how suddenly the conversation had turned into a shouting match. Both knew they were not mad at each other, or even Dean, or the promise; they were just scared. And being cooped indoors certainly didn't help. They were going stir crazy.

"Yeah, I know what you're saying." Sam deflated as suddenly as he'd exploded. With a sigh, he sat down at the foot of the bed and looked at his siblings.

Emily's eyes that had been blazing, softened considerably. "I'm calling Bobby tomorrow for the usual check-in. I'll tell him." she conceded. She crawled over the bed to sit next to Sam. Leaning into him, she smiled slightly. "He'll be fine. He's much too flamboyant to check out this way!"

"I know! He's more a blaze of glory kind of guy, right?" Sam smiled too. Of course the smiles were strained, nearly forced, but at least they were there. The day went excruciatingly slow, with both Sam and Emily listless from lack of activity.

At night, they fell asleep in their now usual positions besides Dean. About three hours later, Sam was torn from his sleep by a whimper. He immediately thought it was Emily, but her confused, sleepily uttered 'Sam?' made him realise it wasn't. In a slight panic, he groped for the light and turned it on. As he'd moved, so had Emily. She was kneeling on the bed and her terrified eyes swung to him for the briefest of moments before they returned to Dean.

In a fluid movement, Sam was on his feet and leaning over the bed. It looked like every single muscle in Dean's body was in spasm. His back was arched, lifting him off the bed and his whole body was humming with tension. He had a such a powerful grip on Emily's hand, that her fingers were crunched together, and Sam knew she'd be in pain, if she hadn't been so scared. What shocked him was the fact that Dean's grip wasn't a conscious effort, and what scared him was the fact that Dean's eyes were wide open and filled with a pain and terror so deep it froze Sam just like it had frozen Emily. However, what broke his heart were Dean's whimpers of 'Help! Help me! Sammy? Mimi? Please help me!' but there was nothing either of them could do. They didn't know what was happening, and didn't know how to help. Their faces were pale, drained of blood in their fear.

Emily kept calling Dean's name, but got no response. Sam's increasingly harder slaps were just as effect less. There was no indication that Dean was even aware of his siblings' presence. Finally, Sam grabbed the hand that held Emily's and pried it open finger by finger to free her. She cradled her hand to her chest, but otherwise, didn't move.

Then as suddenly as it had started, it was over. Dean's whimpers turned into breathless moans, then he collapsed back onto the bed and lay still again. Sam and Emily's eyes widened in horror. Neither wanted to check. Minutes passed before Sam snapped out of his shock. He nearly collapsed in relief when he found a heartbeat. He told Emily. For a second she didn't respond, then she gulped in air and began to sob; loud, heaving sobs of relief and joy. She gathered her unresponsive brother in a hug. With tears falling down his own cheeks, Sam got onto the bed and wrapped his arms round both his siblings.

Sam and Emily didn't want to, but they fall asleep out of sheer exhaustion.

Dean woke some time in the night. He felt no pain and yet he didn't feel drugged. But he felt a weakness that he didn't think he'd ever overcome, and such a looseness of limbs, he believed he'd collapse like a marionette with broken strings if he tried to move. However, what he was most acutely aware of and grateful for, was his siblings' presence. Emily who as usual was sleeping on her side, had snuggled so close to him, her breath was tickling his neck, and her knee was digging into his side. The space between him and Sam was only marginally more, distance of maybe two centimetres, but Sam had flung an arm over his chest, as if he had needed to reassure himself that Dean was still alive. With a bony knee in his side and a heavy arm on his chest, Dean really shouldn't have been feeling as comfortable as he was, but he'd never felt more snug. He smiled in the darkness, his heart filled with love for these sentimental dorks. He didn't want to move, not wanting to disturb either sibling, but the discomfort of the catheter couldn't be ignored. Fuck! What? His mind that had been foggy with sleep and contentment of having his siblings next to him cleared in a flash. He had a catheter on! When had that happened? Why had Sam fitted him with a catheter? God, he hoped it was Sam who had done it. He would never be able to look Emily in the eye if it had been her. Thankfully it was a texas catheter and not a foley. He could take that off himself.

He carefully moved Sam's arm off his chest and sat up, noticing the tubeless cannula in his arm. A catheter and an IV cannula? What the hell? Whatever had happened must have been bad. He crawled towards the foot of the bed as he couldn't get off from either side. It felt wonderful to hit the ground without feeling like he was going to literally fall into pieces. There was no pain, and even though he felt weak and shaky, his muscles and bones didn't seem to have suffered long lasting effects due to the curse. Evidently the curse had been lifted. But how? The last he remembered he'd been launching himself at that bastard. What had happened? His siblings were safe, so they must have gotten out. Emily! She'd been counting on him to take out Connor. Had he? Had she? How had they gotten back to the room? He decided there was no sense in asking himself so many questions. He'd wait and ask his siblings.

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand to use its light. It glowed showing the time and date. What? He'd been out for seven days? No wonder they'd fitted him with a catheter and an IV. Using the phone's light, he rummaged for a bandaid in the first aid box and hobbled to the bathroom. He looked at his reflection. He needed a shave and a burger, or three! He carefully removed the cannula and taped down the site, then he removed the catheter and its corresponding bag, made a face and chucked everything in the trashcan. He wiped himself down, and changed into another pair of sweats.

He crawled back into the bed. He was surprised neither sibling woke up, considering how easily they startled. They must have been exhausted. "I love you guys!" he whispered in the darkness.

When he woke up in the morning, they were both gone. He felt a twinge of disappointment and then laughed at his sappiness. Then a flash of fear tore through him, only dispelled when he heard the shower running. He figured one was in there and the other had probably gone to get breakfast. He got out of the bed and stretched and since he was in the room alone, he performed a ridiculous dance of joy, simply because he could.

He took down the IV bag that was hooked to the light fixture and threw it in the bin. He wondered what the housekeeping woman would think when they left and she could finally clean the room. He knew Emily would hide a tip somewhere to compensate the woman. He chuckled and scratched at his beard. God, whoever was in the shower needed to get out soon so he could get rid of the itchy hair.

Then as if in synchronisation, both the shower door and the front door opened.

"Dean!" Sam spoke in a hushed voice, while Emily whispered. Both voices carried unmistakable joy. Both pairs of eyes lit up.

Then Emily flew the distance between her and Dean and launched herself into his arms. She didn't care if her brothers teased her for this display for the rest of her life. Sam walked more sedately, but he still covered the distance in less time than he usually did. Dean held his siblings. They were both shaking with emotion. He didn't know what had happened in those days he'd lost, but whatever it was, he knew it had really scared them. When they finally drew away, looking a little sheepish, he grinned at them.

"Oh, did you two miss me?" he quipped with a smile. The question asked lightly, was a cover for the rage and guilt he'd felt at seeing his siblings. Sam's wrists were still bound, and Dean knew underneath the shirts his brother's chest was bound. Emily's black eye was still slightly coloured, and the wound on her lip had scabbed over. He'd also not missed the fact that she'd slightly favoured one leg as she'd run to him. That his siblings were hurt, and he'd not been able to stop them from getting hurt made him want to punch a wall.

"As if we'd miss a jerk like you!" Sam protested with an even bigger grin.

"Bitch!" Dean said back fondly.

"Gosh, that morning breath! Peeeww! I liked you better when you were asleep!" Emily added.

"Punk!" was Dean's goodnatured rejoinder.

They insisted he have a shower and a shave before they sat down to breakfast, during which they filled him in on what had gone down in the factory, and what they'd done to keep the authorities from their back. Of course they left out the fact that they'd hidden him in the closet during that time. Dean heartily approved of their actions.

"That was brilliant!" he enthused. "You committed larceny, arson and illegal hacking? There's hope for you geeks after all!"

"I'm not sure whether your approval is a good thing or a disturbing thing!" Sam remarked lightly.

"Whatever! But how am I here?" Dean asked. The smiles his siblings had been wearing fell. Dean immediately guessed why. "Connor's dead, isn't he?"

"At 3 a.m this morning." Emily confirmed. She still wasn't sure how she felt about that. They'd found out when they'd turned the TV on and found the sunrise news starting.

"It was the breaking news this morning. No one can explain how all the bones in his body shattered when he was locked in a padded cell. Internal Affairs is probably going to investigate." Sam added. He knew he had indirectly caused Connor's death by reversing the spell on Dean, but Sam was surprised the guilt he felt was not debilitating. Maybe it just hadn't hit him yet. Still, he was glad when Dean said, "It wasn't your fault!"

Sam disagreed but when he remembered holding Emily that night as she cried over Keith's death, he decided for her sake not to disagree with Dean.

They left after breakfast, made a day of it in Cowpens National Park much to Sam and Emily's obvious glee, and Dean's too, though he successfully pretended otherwise. He had decided they would head to Bobby's, take a load off and then pick up the hunts again.

"This is super good," Emily remarked as she took another bite of the dessert she was sharing with Dean. The buttery cake had a layer of pudding and sliced fruit in the middle, topped with whipped cream and a chocolate covered strawberry.

"Yeah, even though it has fruits in it and it's not pie!" Dean agreed.

They were in Lexington, Kentucky having broken the drive for a lunch break. The small diner they'd found didn't have pie so Emily had ordered the cake. Dean had had to be coaxed into trying it, and now he couldn't stop eating it.

Sam rolled his eyes. Yes, Dean was back. That comment right there was proof, as was the subsequent absurd conversation.

Dean thinking back to the case, asked, "Rae, would you date me if we weren't related?"

She looked at him with a huge smile, "No way!"

"Why not? I'm adorable!"

Emily laughed before speaking, "You're a sloth when it comes to cleanliness ..."

"It only looks that way because you and Sammy are anal about cleanliness." Dean interrupted.

Emily's lips quirked at this. "You've got a one track mind …"

"I prefer to call it focused!"

"Your one liners are atrocious …"

"They're classics!" Dean protested.

"Mmm, nah huh! But to give you the benefit of the doubt, maybe they were classics in the stone ages!"

Sam laughed heartily at this.

"You're a huge man-slut …" Emily continued

"Only because the ladies can't resist me!" Dean waggled his eyebrows.

She rolled her eyes and snorted a laugh. "And you're delusional!"

"What? Me?"

"Yeah! You think you're adorable!"

Sam just about died laughing. Dean mock glared at him.

"Would you date Sammy?"

"It's Sam, and of course she would, I'm awesome!" Sam replied. He couldn't believe he'd been dragged into this ridiculous discussion.

"Nope!" Emily burst his bubble.

"Hey!" Sam said, pretending to be affronted.

"Well, you're anal about cleanliness!" Emily's eyes twinkled with mirth.

Dean exploded with laughter, "What did I tell you Sammy?"

"So are you, perfect match, right there!"

"Well, I'd be a kitchen slave cos you can't cook to save your life!"

"We'd eat out." Sam knew better than to deny that, because he really couldn't cook. Everyone knew that.

"And afford it how exactly?"

"We're both smart, we'd figure it out."

"Flattery will get you everywhere! I change my mind, yes, I'd marry you if we weren't related!"

"Hey! Not fair!" Dean protested.

All joking aside, Emily thought her brothers were good men, and would make good husbands, and exceptionally good fathers. The women they married would be very lucky indeed. And yet, those women would also be unlucky. Emily loved her brothers, but she readily admitted that Sam and Dean had been emotionally damaged by John's lukewarm parenting, by a lack of healthy relationships, and by a series of unacknowledged, unresolved traumas they'd been exposed to while still so young. As a result, the two of them had trust issues and were extremely codependent, a trait she was beginning to develop despite her best attempts not to. Furthermore, they held everyone to extremely high standards and very few people could attain those standards and even fewer people could maintain them. So sooner or later their wives would fall off those pedestals, and they would fall a very, very long way down. It would be hard for anyone to recover from that, trust issues aside. Still, Emily would never ever trade her brothers for anyone. And she was glad they'd all made it out okay.

"Would either of you date me?" she asked holding back a laugh as she knew the answers were going to be ridiculous.

"You wear socks to bed!" Sam started it off.

"My toes get cold!" she defended.

"You're high maintenance!" Dean continued.

"No, I'm not!" Emily protested.

"Well, okay, you're not," Dean conceded, "but I wouldn't know that looking at you, so I'd probably burst a nut trying to make you comfortable!"

"That would be your own fault for judging a book by it's cover!" Emily spoke between breathless laughter.

"You drive like a maniac!" Sam complained.

"You only think so, Sammy because you drive like a grandmother!" Dean teased his brother, who glared at him. "You're a geek!" he added to Emily.

"Poh! That makes me useful!"

"You like Nickelback." Dean said like this was the ultimate character flaw.

"Guilty pleasure." Emily didn't deny this. "By the way, many people secretly like Nickelback. They're just too chicken to admit it. Bet you know all the words to Rockstar!" she said to him.

"And Next Contestant!" Sam quipped with a cheeky smile, glad to get back his brother.

Emily snorted, "Figures you'd like that one. Oh Dean, you're so predictable!"

With a smile on his face, Dean watched them laugh at his expense. Back in Greenville, after he'd woken up from his week long nap, he'd noticed it almost immediately; the light in Emily's eyes had dimmed. That had broken his heart. But seeing her now, he noticed it was flickering back to life. He and Sam just needed to nurture it back to full strength. She'd be okay. They'd all be okay.

Even as he laughed, Sam watched Dean. Sam knew many people found it challenging to document Dean's true feelings and thoughts because of his shell. Dean dismissed his concerns with a joke or by showing a tough unfeeling exterior. Even their father didn't really know how to read Dean. Sam was the Dean expert, Emily was fast becoming equipped and Bobby was better than he let on. So Sam knew Dean was feeling guilty for having been out of it when the fight had gone down, he hated and felt guilty that Sam and Emily had been hurt, he felt guilty for the guilt Emily was feeling. He felt it was his burden to bear. Dean would gladly die for his siblings. It was right there in his eyes. What he failed to realise, however, was that they too would die for him. Sam wondered whether Dean would ever know that.

"Okay Cagney and Lacey, get ready to hit the road!" Dean said getting up.

"Hey!" Both Sam and Emily objected. But Dean was already on his way to the bathroom, his chortles carrying back to his siblings.

Sam raced to the bathroom as well. He waylaid Dean on the way out and said what he'd been dying to say for a while. "Don't take away her victory Dean."

"What?"

"This hunt. Emily did well on this hunt. Don't take that away from her. It's bad enough she's torn up over Keith's death, so don't take away the victory too."

"I wouldn't do that!" Dean protested.

"But you are doing it. Every time you feel guilty for having not been there, you take away her win!"

"Are you saying you don't want me to feel bad that she was hurt? That you were hurt?" Dean was incredulous.

"No! That's not it. You're our brother, of course you feel terrible that we got hurt, we feel the same way about what happened to you. What we don't want is for you to feel guilt. We know you didn't check out willingly, and we don't blame you, but when you feel guilty about not being there for the fight, you're inadvertently claiming ownership of it. It's selfish and it's conceited for you to think you're the only one who can do the job. Also, imagine what it does to her self-esteem!"

"Oh!" Dean had never really thought of that before. But now that he did, he realised it was true. When his father had finally let him hunt solo, he'd been so proud, and even though he'd gotten badly hurt on that hunt, he'd felt a sense of achievement because he'd finished it. His father had patched him up, praising him for a job well done, and not once had the man expressed guilt that it wasn't he who had handled the hunt. Dean realised that would have made him feel inadequate.

"Besides, you're not superman …" Sam continued.

"That's because I'm Batman!" Dean interrupted in a husky affected voice.

Sam laughed then continued where he'd left off, "… and you shouldn't feel bad when you personally don't save the day, and just be glad when the day is saved."

"By Nightwing and Robin!"

"That's the same person!"

"What? And you call yourself a geek? Robin became Nightwing then a new guy became Robin then he …"

"First, I don't call myself a geek. You do. Second, the point wasn't about Nightwing and Robin, but it's actually a good analogy so I'll use it. When Nightwing or Robin or both save the day, Batman doesn't sit around wallowing in guilt that he wasn't the one who saved the day, as that would be redundant and insulting to his sidekicks."

Dean did get it. And he felt immensely lighter as the guilt lifted from his shoulder. Still, he couldn't help messing with his brother. "So we're in agreement that I'm Batman?"

Sam produced a killer bitch-face and walked out of the bathroom. Dean's chuckles followed him to the car where Emily was waiting. She called shotgun making Sam's bitch-face even more epic.

Nearly an hour into the drive, with the radio blasting what Sam liked to call mullet rock, Dean spoke, shouting to be heard over the music. "By the way, Rae, you kicked ass on that hunt!"

Emily didn't ask 'really' just so she could hear the compliment again. Instead, she grinned and shouted back, "Thanks! I learnt from the best hunters!"

Sam smiled. Yes, they would all be fine.

And the next song, 'Hold On' by Kansas seemed like a good omen.

_Look in the mirror and tell me_

_Just what you see_

_What have the years of your life_

_Taught you to be_

_Innocence dyin' in so many ways_

_Things that you dream of are lost_

_Lost in the haze_

_Hold on, Baby hold on_

_'Cause it's closer than you think_

_And you're standing on the brink_

_Hold on, Baby hold on_

_'Cause there's something on the way_

_Your tomorrow's not the same as today_

_Don't you recall what you felt_

_When you weren't alone_

_Someone who stood by your side_

_A face you have known_

_Where do you run when it's too much to bear_

_Who do you turn to in need_

_When nobody's there_

_Outside your door he is waiting_

_Waiting for you_

_Sooner or later you know_

_He's got to get through_

_No hesitation and no holding back_

_Let it all go and you'll know_

_You're on the right track_

**Right then, none of them was scared about what life threw at them. As long as they had each other, they were sure everything would be okay. As long as they held on to love.**

**~the end~**


	22. Epilogue

_Gray had no choice but to wait. He'd done the work and it hadn't paid off as well as he'd hoped. _

_He'd gone to Gentryville, and using charm and threats had gotten access to the girl's adoption papers, and in turn her birth records. Turned out, that had been a waste of his time and methods of persuasion. The words 'father's name unknown' on the girl's birth certificate had made him want to rip out someone's spine and beat them with it. Self preservation was the only thing that kept him from doing so. _

_Having decided that Gentryville was a bust, he decided to ignore the girl's beginnings at least for now, and look into the mother's life. That was when he'd found out about the grandmother, Cece Deco. He was surprised that she was still alive. How Damien had missed taking out the woman was something Gray would never understand, but he was grateful for the man's oversight. Gray headed to Eros. _

_Deciding not to approach the woman directly, Gray asked about her around the town. It seemed the woman was a mystery to everyone, and that intrigued Gray and frankly, it scared him a little. When he finally got close enough, he changed his tactics. There was something about Cece that told him he'd never get her to disclose the whereabouts of her grand-daughter, and he'd never use her as a meat-suit. So he tapped her phone and watched her from a distance, and hoped the girl would make contact soon. _

_Eros was the worst town to be stuck in waiting for a brat to call a nana. Why couldn't the old biddy, have lived in Las Vegas or somewhere a demon could have fun? Gray hoped his boss wouldn't get impatient before the girl called, because he really had run out of ideas of how to track her._

* * *

**A/N: For those who have come with me on this journey thus far, thank you. Hope you've enjoyed it.**


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